Watershed
by forthecoast
Summary: Another woman murdered, an all-too-familiar MO. The only problem is Red John is already dead. And they realize that it's only just begun. Jane/Lisbon.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Watershed  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, right.  
**Spoilers/Timeline:** Set one year after the events of 2x20 (Red All Over). Everything before that is fair game.  
**Summary:** Red John was dead: to begin with.  
**Author's Note:** About a month ago, I had a conversation with a friend about the progression of the Red John story on the show and what could happen as fallout. I found myself inspired to explore that aftermath, in particular the individual reactions of both Jane and Lisbon, and the changes (or otherwise) in their relationship. This is the result. I should also mention that I very directly paraphrase Charles Dickens in the opening line of this story, so consider that a second disclaimer.

Huge thanks to Yana who, on top of editing duties, allowed me to railroad her into being my second set of ears as I brainstormed. This fic is going to be quite a journey, so she has her work cut out for her.

xxxxx

_Now I will unsettle the ground beneath you_  
_Send my waters ashore_  
_Creep into your bed_  
_Find you in ever corner_  
-Vienna Teng, "Watershed"

xxxxx

**prologue**

Red John was dead: to begin with.

He died nine months ago; bled out slowly from a bullet buried deep in his abdomen. She had been the one to kill him, and never in her career had it felt more rewarding, almost gratifying, to sign an incident report and close a case.

But that was July, and now it is April, exactly nine months later. Teresa Lisbon sighs reflectively and steps out onto her front steps, breathing in the cool morning air. She fumbles with her keys before sliding the correct one into the lock, the dead bolt latching with a muted click. The skies above are overcast and gray; quite fitting, she thinks, considering the date.

She turns and descends the steps, feet pounding softly against the sidewalk as she strides out to her car.

"Hey, Teresa!"

Her body whips around at the interjection, and she registers the sight of her next door neighbor, breathing heavily as the younger woman completes the final leg of her morning run.

"Good morning, Anna," Lisbon greets her neighbor with a quick wave as the energetic redhead slows to a jog before disappearing behind her own front door.

Shifting her attention back to the day ahead of her, Lisbon depresses the remote lock and opens the car door. She turns the key in the ignition, and the engine hums softly as she maneuvers onto the otherwise empty streets.

Twenty minutes later, she flashes her badge at the security checkpoint and pulls into the CBI parking lot. A quick glance at the clock on her dashboard reminds her that it is just after seven AM, which explains the mostly deserted lot. Even of those considered to be California's finest, few willingly choose to arrive at work early on a Monday morning.

The CBI does not assign parking spaces, but Lisbon maneuvers the Mustang into her usual spot and kills the engine. In her peripheral vision, she notices the familiar sight of Jane's Citroën DS parked next to several standard-issue SUVs and acknowledges a sense of relief that the car is at least parked in a different spot than when she left the office late Saturday night. Although she wouldn't put it past Jane to move the car just to give her the illusion that he had not spent the entire weekend sprawled out in his customary position on the couch.

Lisbon worries about Jane, perhaps more so because there seem to be no significant changes, no alterations in his behavior, after Red John; and, she sees everything as _before_ and _after_ now.

On the days, before, when she considered the possibilities that didn't include Red John dead and Jane incarcerated -- or worse, she never once expected him to stay. In fact, when scenario became reality and Jane was still a free man, Lisbon assumed it was only a matter of time before his letter of resignation turned up on her desk. For nearly a full week, she attended press conferences and answered to the media, politely and graciously fulfilling her duties as Senior Agent; Jane remained visibly absent. That week culminated in an official commendation from both the Governor and Attorney General, and as soon as possible, Lisbon put in her request to utilize some of her long-accumulated vacation time.

When she returned, she found Jane napping on the sofa as Cho aptly directed Rigbsy and Van Pelt on an open-and-shut (_boring_) case as though absolutely nothing had changed.

At times it still unnerves her that Jane has not mentioned Red John since. Not once.

She shakes her head at her own musings as she enters the building; she tries not to dwell on these thoughts too often. The lobby is noticeably empty, even for such an early hour, and the elevator is already waiting as soon as she depresses the call button.

Still chiding herself for her earlier ruminations, the familiar chime echoes as the doors slide open, and the elevator deposits her on the appropriate floor.

Lisbon treads purposefully down the hall and into the bullpen which, like the rest of the building, stands mostly unoccupied. With the exception of a man in an expensive gray suit, head bent over what she can only assume is either one of his Sudoku puzzles or one of Cho's novels.

Although she promised herself never to disturb a sleeping Jane, she has no qualms about interrupting an idle or nosy Jane; she does not miss a step as she wishes him a good morning and reaches for the latch on her office door.

The door clicks softly behind her as she relinquishes her personal effects to their respective places. Lisbon casts a quick glance out the window towards the gray skies that loom overhead before settling down at her desk and booting up her computer. From the looks of her in tray, there is plenty to keep her occupied well into the afternoon on what is shaping up to be an extremely ordinary Monday.

Not that she would ever complain.

When a soft knock on the door interrupts her, she is signing off on Rigsby's latest case report and separating the important paperwork from the never-ending onslaught of requests from other departments for a temporary 'loan' of Jane's services. The clock on her computer screen tells her that not half an hour has passed since she arrived in the building, which indicates her interrupter could only be one man.

She sets her pen down on her desk and files Rigsby's report in her out tray. With a quiet cough, she clears her throat. "Come on in, Jane."

Her office door jumps open and he appears, pristine suit and thousand watt smile in place, coffee cup in his outstretched hand. "Thought you could use a pick me up," he says; a soft thud as he places the cup down on the table.

Lisbon quirks an eyebrow but closes her hand on the rough cardboard sleeve nonetheless. "This better not be decaf," she deadpans before bringing the cup to her lips. The bitter liquid leaves a pleasant burn as it coats her throat, eliciting a contended sigh. "Did you get this from that new place next to the deli?"

Jane nods, gesturing with the hand that holds an identical cup. "They have an excellent tea selection," he explains. He lingers at the edge of her desk for just a moment longer before retreating to her couch; his eyes sparkle playfully as he sinks into a sitting position.

Reaching for the next file in her in tray, she casts a cautious glance at her office visitor. His eyes are softer now, worn and weary, unfocused and unguarded; for just a fraction of a second.

Although Jane predominantly continues to be Jane, in the _after_, Lisbon takes note of the rare glimpses, brief interludes, when he seems to be real. Maybe even vulnerable.

But those moments never last long, and Jane's best showman façade returns with a vengeance. "That must be a truly fascinating read," he smirks, smug and nonchalant. "Are you always so enthralled by the minutes from the monthly budget meetings?"

She laughs, prepared to tell him exactly where he can shove the aforementioned minutes, when the shrill beeping of her office phone interrupts. Saved by the switchboard, she thinks, as she cradles the receiver against her ear.

Lisbon listens attentively, jotting down an address as a highway patrolman alerts her to a body found at a rest stop off of I-80 at 5:30 that morning. She accepts the case, assuring the officer that she and her team will be along within the hour, and returns the receiver to its customary position with an inaudible click.

"New case?" Jane leans his upper body forward, pushing against his knees with his free hand, and slowly stretches until he is once again standing. He grins at her with his usual bravado, straightening his vest dramatically.

She rolls her eyes in response. Sometimes, it seems so easy to just be around Jane, to slip back into their old patterns, that she allows herself the brief luxury of forgetting that everything has changed.

She retrieves her coat and checks her hip holster, ensuring that both badge and weapon are properly in place, and pretends not to notice the way his hand lingers on the small of her back as he makes a show of holding the office door open for her.

Her keys jingle in her hands as they reach the elevator. She tilts her head just slightly and announces, with authority, "I'm driving."

xxx

The drive down I-80 is mostly uneventful. While Lisbon calls Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt to inform them of their revised morning plans, Jane reclines in the passenger seat, only fidgeting when he finds their current radio selection displeasing.

Forty minutes and several threatening glares later, the bright green highway sign alerts her that they are close to the crime scene. Her hand catches on the turn signal and she maneuvers across traffic, pulling off on the exit ramp.

The rest stop is noticeably full for this hour on a Monday morning, and Lisbon releases an audible groan when she catches sight of a small crowd of onlookers with camera phones, all ogling for a closer look. She locates the corner of the lot as far away from the crowd and commotion as possible before pulling into a space and putting the car in park.

"Just great," she mumbles under her breath.

She slides out of the SUV, emphatically slamming the door behind her, and heads, determined, toward the sealed-off area near the opposite end of the lot. Jane silently falls into stride beside her. Forcing her way through the throngs of enthusiastic observers, she ducks under the yellow crime scene tape and nods at the small group of local law enforcement officers who have assembled.

"I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon and this," she motions to her side, "is Patrick Jane. We're with CBI."

The man who steps forward to meet her firm handshake appears to be in his early 50s. His dark hair shows signs of graying and his forehead does not hide age-appropriate wrinkles. "Sheriff Paul Mackenzie." He turns to shake Jane's hand as well, but Jane's attention has landed on several members of the drawn crowd. Mackenzie frowns and drops his hand by his side. "Local highway patrol called me as soon as they found the body," he drawls, "but I took one look and thought this falls under your jurisdiction. Public highway and all."

"Of course," Lisbon gives a stiff nod of her head and whips her body around, ensuring that Jane is not causing any trouble. Satisfied, she addresses the sheriff once more. "What do you know so far?"

Mackenzie's eyes narrow, looking down at her as though she'd suddenly grown a third eye. "Female. Late 30s, early 40s. This looks like a dump site." He speaks with hesitation; when she purses her lips in impatience, he simply shrugs his shoulders. "We figured we'd leave the body be and let your people do their thing."

In her resolve, Lisbon nods and calls for Jane. Turning back to Mackenzie, she attempts to mask her exasperation. "My team is on its way. Can you try to do some crowd control?"

"Of course," Mackenzie agrees. "We did look for ID, but our killer didn't leave any on her. Took her wallet. I was thinking maybe a mugging gone wrong?"

Distracted by her attempts to conceal her annoyance, she is completely unprepared when she catches her first glimpse of the body.

She feels, rather than sees, Jane stiffen at her side. Frozen in place, her blood runs cold as she takes in the sight before her.

Young woman, late 30s; bleach blonde hair, average height, and just slightly overweight.

Skin ghostly pale, marred by dried blood and innumerable knife wounds.

An unfamiliar voice breaks her trance. She swallows as one of the sheriff's deputies remarks in a naive sense of self-importance, "You think you'll get a hit running her through the missing person's database?"

In her peripheral vision, Jane stands motionless; she wonders, for a moment, if he is even breathing.

"There's no need," Lisbon answers, barely able to recognize the sound of her own voice. "This is Jennifer Howell. She is -- she _was_ Red John's wife."

xxxxx


	2. Bad Moon Rising

**chapter one**

Bad Moon Rising

xxxxx

Jane leans back against the textured brick of the free-standing bathroom facilities. Just waiting, watching.

Although the local sheriff and his deputies are deficient and inexperienced in dealing with serious crimes, they did succeed in clearing out the crowd of onlookers and, with some help from the first CSU van to arrive, blocked off the exit to all civilians. Jane notices little of this commotion, instead stares straight ahead to where Lisbon stands guard over the body.

She barks instructions as the CSU team arrives on site, the tension rolling off of her petite frame in waves.

They've both lived through this nightmare too many times before.

His hands are cold as he idly twists his wedding ring. Under the dim light of overcast skies, it appears dull and worn; not the promise of love, of _forever_, that it had once been and, in some ways, still should be. Jane allows his shoulders to sag just slightly, dropping his gaze to the uneven cement of the sidewalk.

He remains in that position -- as though asleep while standing up; indefinitely suspended in time -- until a gentle touch on his shoulder brings him back. Light and tentative at first, but it persists.

Slowly he raises his head and corrects his posture. Although her hand falls back to her side, its comfort lingers, warming him.

"Jane?" The concern in Lisbon's voice mirrors that etched explicitly across her face.

He sweeps his gaze over the entire rest area, suddenly alert once more. He immediately takes note of Rigsby casing the outskirts of the main building; Cho and Van Pelt in deep discussion with the medical examiner, a tall, tan woman with jet black hair he remembers as Erica. Lisbon, as he expected, would not leave the body until someone she could trust arrived to take her place.

The air that settles between them is thick and heavy, weighed down by a vast array of uncertainty. Jane breathes in deeply, but he finds himself unable to speak. It is Lisbon who finally breaks the silence.

"This isn't him." Her voice falters just slightly, more an attempt to reassure herself than him. "Red John is dead."

"He is," Jane replies, sincere. If there is one thing of which he is certain, it is the fact that Red John is dead. "This --" he gestures to where Van Pelt and Erica still stand, "This is something else entirely."

Lisbon frowns and folds her arms across her chest. "But this isn't just anyone, Jane," she scolds, eyebrows furrowed in doubt. "Red John's wife gets murdered in the exact same way he used to kill. This is the best copycat we've ever seen."

"This isn't a copycat." Jane shifts his weight and stiffens his posture, resolute, before catching her gaze. "But you're right. This is no coincidence."

"So if it isn't a copycat and it isn't a coincidence, then what is it?"

She looks at him expectantly, under the assumption that, as always, he is already five steps ahead of her. Instead, he exhales and sighs in defeat. "I don't know," he admits quietly.

He ducks his head, breaking their mutual gaze; humbled in both frustration and failure. This time, however, the silence that follows his confession creates a discomfort that resonates deep within him. When Van Pelt calls frantically for their attention, startling them both, Jane finds himself grateful for the interruption.

Lisbon steps briskly along the pavement, and he follows, somewhat slower in pace, until the putrid stench of death and early decay once again penetrates his senses. While Lisbon crouches down beside the medical examiner, Jane prefers to remain upright and lean in at an angle, allowing himself to fully inspect the body for the first time.

"... body is showing definite signs of rigor mortis. I'm estimating that time of death is about eight or nine hours ago."

He hears Erica divulge her initial observations in a crisp, clinical tone, but as he examines the body, a sense of unease settles over him. He is missing something -- something important. Leaning forward once more, he narrows his eyes and slowly, attentively takes in the gruesome sight before him. He steps carefully around outstretched limbs, until he is opposite both Lisbon and Erica, and finally concedes, kneeling down to get a closer look.

He hears Lisbon confirm for Erica that this is, in fact, Red John's wife when the realization overtakes him.

"Our killer knew everything about Red John," he explains, detached and distant. "Knew he was married, knew where to find his wife, knew exactly how he killed --" Jane trails off and rotates his head, knowing that Lisbon and Erica will follow suit. His vision lingers on Jennifer Howell's bare feet, "even painted her toenails in her own blood."

"But, what about --" Lisbon interrupts. When Jane finally tears his eyes away from blood red toes, he reads the unfinished question in Lisbon's eyes.

"It's not missing." He shakes his head, slow and purposeful, in response. Gingerly, he extends his right arm, index finger pointed, and shifts the tattered remains of Jennifer Howell's shirt to reveal distinctive knife wounds on her abdomen: Red John's smiley face.

Jane draws in a heavy breath, his chest tightening. "Our killer isn't trying to copy Red John," he extrapolates, his voice calm and steady despite the rapid pounding of his heart. "Our killer _knew_ Red John, maybe even worked with him."

"Jane," Lisbon objects, frown evident without looking at her. "Jane, you can't be serious! We covered all of those bases _months_ ago."

Despite her vehement protests, he reads the underlying uncertainty and fear in her voice, and reality is even more disconcerting when Lisbon second guesses herself at a crime scene. This confirms his suspicions that, although he never asks, she still harbors doubts about what happened nine months ago.

"You didn't miss anything," he says finally. "There wouldn't be anything to miss. If he's making himself known now, it's only because he wants us to know him."

Jane cautions a brief glance away from the body. While Erica now stands a step behind, Lisbon leans in closer, stiff and seemingly unafraid; her tough-as-nails professionalism back in place to the casual observer. Only the momentary flicker of panic in her gaze tells him that she remains uneasy, rattled.

A chill washes over him as something catches his eye, a miniscule white signal in his peripheral vision.

With calculated precision, he draws Lisbon's attention to the note tucked carefully into Jennifer Howell's left pants pocket, hidden away so that only the most thorough of investigators would take notice. She immediately understands, extending a latex-clad hand to the object in question; a futile precaution, for Jane is certain there will be no DNA evidence of any use to them.

Lisbon draws in a sharp breath, wincing visibly as soon as the note is free from its denim confines, and one glance at the front of the twice-folded white page reveals why: in clear black type, the letter is addressed to the 'Serious Crimes Unit'.

"He brought her here so that we would be on this case," she surmises with quiet conviction.

She rises slowly until she stands upright once more, and he stretches, mimicking her movements. Both desiring to read the contents of the note in private, he treads cautiously behind Lisbon, following her lead as she seeks out refuge in the shadows of several large oak trees. Although dim lighting forces him to squint, he catches every word of the message with startling clarity.

_Dear mister Jane and agent Lisbon,_

_You must be wondering what all of this is about. In time, all will be revealed. For now all you need to know is this: Red John learned everything he knew from me._

_You must think that you are so clever. You tracked Red John and killed him all on your own. He made a mistake, and you caught it. You must think that you make such a good team. Everyone else seems to think so, too._

_But don't get too comfortable._

_Red John thought he was smarter than me. He left me because he thought he was better, then he made it personal. That was his first mistake. Yours was killing him before I had a chance. Do not underestimate me, for that would prove fatal. Mister Jane, you have personal experience with this, but dear agent Lisbon, this will be your first time._

_Keep this in mind: Red John makes mistakes; I do not._

_Until we meet again. :)_

xxx

Jane does not protest when Lisbon takes the keys, and the ride back to headquarters is eerily silent, each seemingly lost in their own private thoughts. He settles back against the headrest and closes his eyes, feigning sleep.

On an ordinary day, Lisbon might call him on it. Ten months ago, she might even have teased him, voice dripping with sarcasm. But today is not ten months ago, and it certainly is not an ordinary day.

Instead, he positions himself so that he can watch her without being caught. With his head at a slight angle and his eyes seemingly closed, his line of vision remains uninterrupted.

Visibly tense, Lisbon looks straight ahead, eyes never once leaving the stretch of highway in front of her. She breathes a heavy sigh and absently reaches to the side, fingering the controls and cracking her window just a few inches. A gentle breeze whips through the car, blowing a few loose strands of her dark hair.

It is nearly noon by the time they return to the CBI parking lot. While Jane persists in his feigned slumber, Lisbon slows the SUV as they pull up to the gate, braking at the security checkpoint before pulling into the back of the lot. Putting the car in park, she nudges him gently on the shoulder.

"Jane," she says, her voice a half-whisper. "Jane, we're back."

Raising one hand to stifle a yawn, Jane opens his eyes and curls his lips upward. Because she believed him to be asleep, he is able to catch her off guard for just a brief moment before reality sets in again.

Lisbon returns immediately to work mode, cutting the engine before she steps out onto the pavement. The lobby is far more crowded at noon -- agents loitering while discussing lunch plans or coming and going while working a case -- and Lisbon grows impatient at the wait for the elevator. With a discontented grunt, she spins in place and heads for the staircase, and by the time the heavy door shuts behind him, she is already one flight up.

Jane scales the four flights of steps, footsteps echoing around him, until he exits the stairwell on the familiar floor. Out of breath, he finally catches up to her in her office. "Good grief, woman," he pants, collapsing dramatically on her couch. "You can slow down. This isn't a _race_!"

Already seated at her desk, Lisbon turns her head and quirks an eyebrow, smiling. "You're just saying that because you lost."

He exhales, a soft, genuine laugh in reply, and for a minute he allows himself to forget the horrific turn of events that looms overhead.

The angry clicking of a woman's heels approaching in the hallway interrupt their temporary respite. The office door opens and shuts in one swift, violent motion, and Madeleine Hightower appears glowering in its wake, bringing them both back to reality with an unpleasant jolt.

"Red John's wife? Tell me it's not true," the imposing agent scowls.

Lisbon's eyes meet his before she turns toward her boss, calm and resolute as she explains, "Unfortunately, it is true. I was just getting ready to come upstairs and brief you."

Hightower leans back against the doorjamb in frustration and defeat. "That won't be necessary. Several concerned citizens with iPhones have already released video onto the internet; it's been all over the news. We'll need to schedule a press conference to clear all of this up as soon as possible, so what do you have for me?"

"Not much yet," Lisbon admits, shrugging her shoulders. "We believe that our killer knew Red John personally and held some kind of long-standing grudge against him." Lisbon pushes against her desk, rising to her feet and handing over the now-bagged note. "This was left for us on the body."

Jane watches as Hightower reads the contents of the note through the evidence bag, estimating that she allows herself the time to re-read it thrice before placing it back on Lisbon's desk.

"You'll get this to evidence as soon as we're done," she says, more a statement than a question, and emphatically folds her arms over her chest. "At least now we have somewhere to start."

"I've already called to have the Red John files pulled from the archive." Lisbon fingers the edge of the evidence bag as she replies, but she approaches Hightower head on. Once again, Jane finds himself grateful for the far more stable relationship between Lisbon and Hightower emerging in recent months.

"Good." The taller agent gives a stiff nod of approval before her expression softens. "And Agent Lisbon --?"

"Yes, boss?"

"This threat -- it's against you, and it's personal. You've been singled out, so please come to me if you feel that you need anything."

Lisbon purses her lips and expresses her thanks at this show of support, although Jane knows her innate independence will never allow her to accept the offer. At least, not for her own protection.

Hightower walks to the doorway as though preparing to leave, but she hesitates at the doorknob. Turning around, she narrows her eyes towards his half-reclined position on the couch. "Jane," she begins, voice laced with both suspicion and concern. "You've been awfully quiet. Can I see you outside for a minute?"

Wordlessly, he stretches his arms and propels himself forward until he has momentum enough to stand upright. His mouth goes dry suddenly, a combination of the entire morning and his failed effort to catch Lisbon in the stairwell. He decides that he'll need to make another tea run as soon as possible.

He feels Lisbon's eyes on his back, like a question, as he retreats from her office. Turning one shoulder to flash an encouraging smile in her direction, he allows the door to fall shut behind him. Hightower is already looking at him expectantly.

"I know I don't need to tell you how important this case is going to be." She pauses for a beat, shooting him a pointed look, "Or how difficult."

Jane remains silent, swaying gently back and forth as he waits for Hightower to get to the point.

Finally taking his lack of a response as an unvoiced acceptance, Hightower exhales her general displeasure. "This note that you found on the body, it worries me."

"Of course it does."

Hightower shakes her head at his attempt to downplay the situation. "It's more than that," she counters. "I know you see it, too. This man has been holding a grudge against Red John, probably from before any of his known murders, and you and Lisbon sabotaged his own plans for revenge. Plans that, I'm certain, were far more elaborate than any even you dared to harbor."

"Lisbon is at a far greater risk than I am," he observes, serious, as an involuntary chill runs down his spine.

"Not just because she's the one who pulled the trigger, either," Hightower adds, almost an afterthought. "But this guy, he wants to prove to the world that he _is_ smarter than Red John, and that means going after the one person Red John never finished with. You."

Jane frowns, his usual mask splintering as the implication of her words linger in the air. He finally acknowledges what his own paralyzing blindness in all things relating to Red John prevented him from seeing before.

"And to get to me, to make me suffer," he infers, more to himself than to the supervising agent in front of him, "the obvious choice would be to go through her."

His voice falters with this realization. Instinctively, he casts a glance over his shoulder, reassuring himself that Lisbon is still okay, even though logic tells him that nothing could possibly have happened to her in the three minutes since he left her alone. Through the open blinds in her office, she sits at her desk unaware, phone in one hand and coffee in the other. Rage replaces his initial relief, coursing through him as he watches her; it's an overwhelming anger, an incomprehensible fury that had previously been reserved for one man only.

"Patrick." Hightower's unexpected use of his given name draws him back to the conversation at hand. "This isn't just your life anymore. It's Lisbon's, and it's everyone on her team. On _your_ team. Proceed with caution, because I will not stand for it if even one of my agents is placed in harm's way because you lost your head."

Satisfied that her point was both heard and understood, Hightower turns and treads purposefully down the hallway. Jane, however, remains frozen in place long after her retreating form disappears into the elevator.

"You have my word," he finally replies, startled by the harshness in his own voice as he holds a conversation with the empty space before him.

The day he came back, having decided to face life after Red John instead of running from it, he vowed that no one else would suffer because of his own unrepressed arrogance, least of all Lisbon.

It's a promise he intends to keep, now more than ever.

xxxxx

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**A/N:** I am so sorry about the delay in getting this chapter up. I'm moving this weekend, and virtually all of my time over the last week and a half has been devoted to that.

I can't promise I'll get the next chapter up much faster, although I have started to write ahead. I will try my best :)

As a final note (and usually I _will_ attempt to limit my rambling), each chapter title will be 'borrowed' from either song lyrics or a song title. This chapter comes from the CCR song of the same name. I have no doubt that, by the time I finish this, the resulting playlist I'll have compiled on iTunes will be nothing short of hilarious (read: absurd).


	3. Unwritten Letter 1

**chapter two**

Unwritten Letter #1

xxxxx

The courier deposits the final box on her office floor and bids her farewell. Lisbon visibly stiffens, hands at her hips as she takes stock of the evidence before her. Each one of the many boxes contains carefully organized evidence from the Red John file, from interview tapes to personal effects taken from the Howell residence.

Martin Howell. Even nine months following his death, the name sounds foreign both on her tongue and in her thoughts. Knowing the name, the identity behind the monster, merely adds a level of brutality to his crimes she previously had not considered possible.

She has always known, of course, that Red John was human, but it is still so easy to forget that when faced with the heinous nature of his crimes. Too often in the past, he seemed invincible, larger than life; it came as a complete shock when this case, one that they labored over for years, came to a close in only a few short hours.

It all happened so fast. At 10:00 in the morning, she received the remaining files from the San Angelo County Sheriff's Department's fourteen month investigation of Sheriff Hardy. Looking through the information to file it away, a name caught her eye: next of kin listed from Dumar Hardy's final place of employment eleven years prior. Only a few hours later, Van Pelt came to her with two addresses, the question of why Orwell Tanner's common law wife, at 67 years of age, would need two places of residence in the same twenty mile radius weighing heavily on their minds.

So they dispatched, Cho and Van Pelt to one, and she, Rigsby, and Jane to the other. In an ideal world, she would have left Jane out of the equation entirely, having sworn to herself that she would do everything in her power to prevent him from falling victim to his own vigilantism. Van Pelt, however, made no such promise and was not as discrete.

Although months have passed since she was cleared by the new department psychiatrist, there are still nights when Lisbon wakes in a cold sweat, the events of that day replaying in her head like a broken record. Flashbacks of arguing with Jane, arriving at the house, the moment of sheer surprise when a woman answers the door, Red John taking his wife hostage; her own hands, momentarily shaking as her fingers grip the trigger.

By 3:00, Red John bled out onto his own kitchen floor.

"I still win," was all he said.

At the time, she dismissed his final words without a second thought; there were too many other things to consider. Now, though, as Lisbon fingers the lid of the first evidence box, she finds her recollections laced with uncertainty.

Blinking back fatigue, a boneless weariness that settles deep within her, she tugs on the cardboard lid and begins to re-familiarize herself with every last detail of the Red John file.

Over an hour later, Lisbon stands back and replaces the cap on her dry erase marker, surveying the white board before her. She shuffles back over to the boxes, now spread carefully across her office floor, and replaces the last remaining file before closing the lid. She slides the sorted box back against her desk, then turns, her chest tightening as she eyes the task before her.

There, staring back at her in bold, black Sharpie, the name 'Jane' stands in stark contrast against the white cardboard, as though it's just another case number.

She knows the contents of this box by heart, a much deeper level than the rest of Red John's victims. Although she always sorts through every file with methodical precision, she handles these crime scene photos and interview logs with added care.

Every few minutes, she casts a cautious glance over her shoulder, scanning the bullpen for the man who had, by all accounts, been unusually subdued since their return to the office. He disappeared sometime prior to the press conference, and while she is admittedly concerned, she would much prefer to complete the task at hand before he makes his return.

The knot in her chest constricts her breathing as she finally slides the last folder back in place. The paper slices her thumb, and she gasps and curses under her breath, pulling back as fresh blood mars the edge of the manilla folder.

"Damn it," she mumbles, applying gentle pressure to the small wound. With her uninjured hand, she replaces the lid on the box and pushes it out of her way, walking over to her desk to retrieve a band aid from the first aid kit she keeps in the bottom left drawer. The cut still stings as the drawer glides shut with a soft thud, and she is still leaning over the side of her desk when she hears a gentle rapping on her office door.

Startled by the interruption, she turns with a jump just in time to see Patrick Jane appear behind the glass paneling.

"Come in, Jane," she says, recovering, but he has already made his way inside. She settles herself in her desk chair and looks up at him. "Where have you been all afternoon?" she asks.

She doesn't dare ask him if he's alright. She knows better than that, and she isn't alright either.

"Nowhere," he replies, giving a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. There is a hint of defeat tingeing his response that Lisbon sees visible even in the way he holds himself; barely present, but there. She knows instinctively that wherever Jane spent the afternoon was for a much-needed respite and not wandering off to cause trouble, so she decides not to push the issue.

The moment passes, and his expression brightens, charismatic smile now on display at almost full voltage. He ambles over to the side of her desk. "I come bearing gifts," he says after a dramatic pause, seeming inordinately pleased with himself.

She leans forward, resting her elbows against the edge of her desk. "I'm afraid to ask."

"Nothing nefarious. Just a head start on dinner."

Lisbon subconsciously bites her lower lip and feels a slight pang in her stomach; she hadn't even realized that she was hungry.

"Chicken salad," he says, placing the sandwich down in front of her. "I know you skipped lunch."

"Thank you. I've been busy."

He nods, eyes sweeping across the office floor before landing on the half-finished white board. "I can see that." He hesitates, then, "You were great at the press conference today."

She unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite, shrugging off his compliment. "Hightower did most of the heavy lifting."

"You were great up there," he challenges with a shake of his head. "I know how much you hate those."

"The job is the job." She says, giving pause to chew and swallow; she feels slightly more refreshed by the meal. "How do you know? You weren't even there."

The words escape her before she has a chance to consider them. She realizes, the moment she sees Jane's expression fall, what she's said, but it's too late.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she mumbles, eyes darting nervously downward. "I- I didn't realize. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," he assures her gravely. "You and I both know it's better for everyone if I don't make appearances at those press conferences, so I made myself scarce. I saw the news, though, so don't sell yourself short."

Lisbon nods, unsure of how to respond and not wanting to misspeak again, so she continues to chew on her sandwich.

"So," Jane's face brightens, and she recognizes the look in his eyes, his quiet concentration, a sure sign that he has moved onto the case. "You've been going back through the files, I see."

"Yeah, I have."

"You're not going to find anything in any of these boxes that you don't already know."

"I know that," she concedes with a sigh. "But I have to go back through everything anyway. There's a personal link in here that we don't know about yet, so I'm not going to lose anything by taking another look. Van Pelt is back with the county sheriff's office, looking through security footage from the rest stop to see if there's anything of use, and Rigsby and Cho are at Jennifer Howell's new apartment with CSU. When they've all finished and I'm done with the evidence logs, I'm going to start dividing up the interview tapes."

"She was killed at the apartment," he says.

It's a statement and not a question, but Lisbon nods in affirmation anyway.

"Erica is still finishing the autopsy report, but it looks like Jennifer was killed at about midnight last night."

He considers this for a moment, eyes studying the boxes on the floor before finding the one labeled with his own surname. Lisbon draws in a silent breath, noting the lines on his face as he retreats into himself, guilt etched plainly in his expression.

Her concern for Jane in that moment is so real that it is almost palpable.

He changes skins like a chameleon, however, and for the seemingly hundredth time that day, slips back into his disguise. But she can sense _him_, lurking there beneath the surface, now more than ever before.

"Okay, I've been holed up in the office for too long," she announces decisively, rising from her desk chair and disposing of the crumbled sandwich wrapper. "Why don't we go to Howell's apartment and see what Cho and Rigsby have found?"

Jane consents, smiling at her as he gestures toward the door.

"After you."

xxx

They arrive at the correct building half an hour later and immediately find the entrance to Jennifer Howell's first floor residence. The apartment complex itself gives off the vibe of a seedy motel on the wrong side of town, and Lisbon and Jane step over broken beer bottles and empty fast food bags as they make their way to the open door.

Inside the apartment, the space is small and cramped, sparsely furnished with no personal touches whatsoever. Jennifer Howell had no family to speak of and no financial resources either. Although Red John had been independently wealthy, he still left his wife with nothing.

Lisbon purses her lips, remembering the broken woman who had no idea what kind of man she had married. Jennifer Howell had been incredibly naive, yes, but she by no means deserved everything she had been through. Least of all her tragic death as just a pawn in somebody else's game.

"She should have let us put her in witness protection," Lisbon says absently, surveying the scene before her. "At least until some of the media frenzy died down."

Cho walks up to them, flipping through pages on his notepad as soon as he notices their arrival. "Boss, Jane," he greets them with a terse nod of his head, a magnanimous gesture coming from the stoic agent.

"What have you got?"

"Not much," Cho replies. "There's no sign of forced entry, and the only fingerprints we've found are the victim's."

"You won't find any DNA, either," Jane chimes in solemnly.

"We don't know that," Lisbon argues. She hesitates before conceding, "Although it's highly unlikely. I know there's the Red John connection and we need to take that into consideration, but we don't know what we're dealing with here yet. Until we have a better idea, I don't want us to make a mistake by taking something for granted." She pauses long enough to meet Cho's eyes, her stern words ensuring his understanding, and she rotates her neck over her shoulders, fighting the tension that settles there. "Where's Rigsby?" she asks.

"He went off to see if any of the neighbors saw or heard anything out of the ordinary," Cho explains.

Lisbon checks her watch and says, "Great. Go join him and give me an update. People will be home from work soon, so there may be more people to go back and question."

"Sure thing, boss."

When Cho disappears out the front door, she turns to find Jane already casing the apartment. She walks up to where he is inspecting the handful of books littering the otherwise-empty bookshelf.

"Are you getting anything from this?"

Jane slides his index finger along the spine of the paperback on the far end of the shelf before craning his neck to look at her. "It's mostly bad romance novels, a few third rate self-help books. Not like we didn't know about her low self esteem already." He shifts away from the bookshelf and moves to the bedroom door. Over his shoulder, he adds, "Nothing that would ever touch your shelves."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Lisbon remarks dryly, before regaining her professional composure and bracing herself for the scene that awaits them in the bedroom.

The room is dark and dank, but she can make out the stains of dried blood with absolute certainty and immediately comes to two realizations. The first is the conspicuous absence of the haunting smiley face. She did not even realize that she had been expecting it, although she clearly recalls the angry knife wounds that symbolically branded Jennifer Howell's lifeless body. The second is that there is, without a doubt, more blood than she has ever seen at any Red John crime scene.

This only reinforces the added level of brutality evident from just one glance at Jennifer Howell's body.

"Preliminary report from the M.E. says that it probably took at several hours for her to bleed to death." She walks over to the bed and surveys the scene once more. Despite CSU's diligence, Lisbon can't help but agree with Jane's previous assessment that the only DNA present will be that of their victim.

She expects a response from him, some sort of acknowledgement, but when her gaze passes where he previously stood, Lisbon realizes that he slipped out while she was lost in her own thoughts.

Sighing in both exasperation and concern, she retreats from the bedroom and finds him in the cramped kitchen area. Contrary to his usual kitchen investigation, however, Jane is simply rifling through Jennifer Howell's purse.

His back is to her, at just enough of an angle that she can observe him as he carefully removes item after item from the handbag. Without faltering from the task before him, he explains matter-of-factly, "Jennifer Howell barely kept anything of personal significance. She rid herself of anything that would remind her of her husband, and she didn't have the time or the resources to build a new life for herself just yet. If there's anything in the apartment that might still be a link to Red John, it's safe to assume that it would be something either so important that she couldn't get rid of it, or it is so innocuous that she would not remember it." He pauses then to look over his shoulder, and she takes the two remaining strides to stand directly behind him. "Therefore, it's safe to assume that there _could_ be something in her purse."

"Is that a hunch?"

"Something like that." His blue eyes light up as he says this, a sure sign that this hunch may lend some credence to reality, and he pulls a set of keys from the bag.

"What is a woman like Jennifer Howell doing with this many keys?" he wonders aloud. The keys jingle as he counts them, one by one. "If you account for an apartment key, a mailbox key, and a key for both the front and back entrances of the restaurant where she's been waiting tables, that still leaves us with a spare."

"So what are you implying?" Lisbon leans in closer, her eyes zeroing in on the one key on which Jane seems to have focused his attention.

"My guess is that she never gave this key a second thought after she put it on her key ring." He fingers the brass object gently, as though he can extract the answers through touch alone. After a minute passes, he nods at his own conclusions. "Lisbon," he says, a hint of urgency in his voice. "We have to get to the train station - now."

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

She calls after him, but Jane is already halfway out the door.

"I'll explain on the way," is the only answer he offers.

xxx

It's only a short ride from the apartment complex to the train station, but from the passenger seat, Jane outlines the reasoning that led him to his conclusions.

Although initially appearing convoluted, once he fully explains himself everything falls into place. If Red John had anything he wanted to keep from his wife, he would have needed a storage unit of some kind. The train station is the only place in the city that would have allowed him both the anonymity he desired and the ability to pay cash long-term.

A light rain begins to fall, and Lisbon is once again grateful for the official CBI license plates that allow her to park in the reserved spaces closest to the station entrance. She quickly hops out of the car and dashes up the steps until she is under cover, getting only minimally damp in the process.

She waits a few seconds for Jane to catch up, then turns and strides purposefully into the bustling station. They locate the long-term storage lockers with relative ease, but Lisbon finds herself hesitating in front of the box in question: #47F.

Jane remains a steady presence at her side, and she almost expects him to make a teasing comment about her hatred of train stations. Thankfully, however, he does not.

Instead, his hand brushes against the small of her back, encouraging her gently, and she slides the key into the lock. Her movements are careful and deliberate as she turns her wrist, waiting for the muted click as the lock releases and the door falls open. Although the locker itself is large in size, all she finds is a single book, tucked away in the back corner.

Lisbon reaches in and retrieves it, realizing upon further inspection, that in her hands is a leather-bound copy of _The New American Bible_.

"Strange," she furrows her brow, voicing her bewilderment. She thumbs the pages, still pondering what this could possibly mean, when she notices something sticking out from between the pages. She allows the book to fall open and, keeping one finger to hold her place, pulls out a hand-written message.

_Dear mister Jane,_

_It's nice to know that, even in death, some things will never change. I see you are still a pretentious fraud, or you would have known about Him sooner. While he could never find me, you and your lovely colleague I am certain will prove easier targets. It's a shame the price that others must pay for your own faults._

_Make no mistake: God is not mocked, for a person will reap only what he sows._

Lisbon draws in a sharp breath as she finishes reading Red John's message, pursing her lips as she hazards a cautious glance at Jane.

He stands remarkably still and silent.

"Jane," she whispers. "Are you alright?"

Beside her, his initial shock seems to fade away, and as he finally acknowledges her concern, the raw honesty in his expression is almost more worrisome than the actual contents of Red John's message.

"He always knew that this was going to happen," Jane states. "He was always so far ahead of us that even when we found him, he still had the upper hand."

His hand falls limp at his side, and she reaches out, suddenly overcome by the need to comfort him, or perhaps herself, to reassure herself that he's still there, still solid beside her.

With one final glance at the offending message she holds in her free hand, Lisbon sighs heavily. "This is what he meant when he was dying," she concludes. "This is why he thinks he's won."

xxxxx

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**A/N:** About trying to get this up any faster? Ooops. I re-wrote the majority of this chapter twice before I even sent it off to Yana, so everyone give her a round of applause for taking my jumbled thoughts and turning them into something that might even make sense. Sometimes I think she believes in my vision for this story more than I do.

Because I'm sure that you're wondering, I know I've had to go heavy on the case setup, but I do have a lot planned for character development and personal interaction as the story progresses. Jane and Lisbon both have a lot that's been left unsaid, and I can't stay away from that for too long.

Chapter title by Vienna Teng. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me so far :)


	4. The Past and Pending

**chapter three**

The Past and Pending

xxxxx

Jane arrives at the café twenty minutes before their agreed upon meeting time. It's the same café where they met on the day the McTeer case broke, and though they still frequent the various bakeries, coffee shops, and delis in the vicinity of CBI headquarters regularly, it's been a long time since they've done so without the rest of the team present.

Over nine months, in fact.

It wasn't really even intentional; in the wake of Red John's demise, there was a natural distance that arose between them. Certain lines were drawn that remained uncrossed.

At first, it was to be expected. From the moment the paramedics pronounced Red John dead at the scene, Jane could sense Lisbon already shutting down emotionally and instead putting her complete focus on the job. He knew that throwing herself into her work was Lisbon's primary way of coping; he had seen her do it countless times before, but never quite to this degree.

He needed his own time and space then as well.

He had been completely unprepared for what happened that day in July. When Grace let on, late in the morning, that she was following up on a loose end that Lisbon caught in the San Angelo County Sheriff's Department's investigation of Dumar Hardy, a strange and ominous feeling settled deep in his gut - not entirely unlike the one he experienced when he first encountered the note tacked to his bedroom door. The entire rest of the day passed as a blur to him, with the exception of the five minutes leading up to, and half hour following, the single shot from Lisbon's service weapon.

Jane always thought he would be ready. After all, he considered Red John's death to be his sole remaining purpose in life.

He was wrong.

It would take him the better part of two weeks to realize that he was very wrong on both counts.

He left Red John's place of residence not long after the paramedics pronounced the serial killer dead, slipping out through the back door while everyone else was otherwise distracted. Then he drove the seven hours to Malibu, stopping just once when he needed gas. Once he had barricaded himself in his abandoned home, only then did he allow himself to break down.

For the first time since he had been in Sophie Miller's care, he became almost nonfunctional. He simply lay on the mattress in the empty bedroom, his eyes fixed permanently on the red marks marring the pristine white walls. Three days passed, and Jane barely moved from his resting place.

Red John was dead, and all Jane felt was an overwhelming emptiness.

On the fourth day, without any rhyme or reason, he slowly began to emerge from his stupor, and he finally saw the headlines for the first time. Red John was not only the lead story in every newspaper in California, but also the front page headline for the _New York Times_, _USA Today_, and _Washington Post_. Jane bought a copy of each paper and laid them out on his unused kitchen table, and staring back at him from the front page of each one were several dated pictures of the killer who had haunted him for years.

There were also photos from the CBI Press Conference: Lisbon, flanked by Cho, Van Pelt, and Rigsby; Lisbon and Hightower; even one candid of Lisbon and Minelli, who re-emerged from retirement to praise his protégée. The Governor and Attorney General had gone as far as offering official commendation for her work.

Jane could only imagine the amount of reluctance with which Lisbon received such accolades, no matter how well-deserved the recognition.

Once he finished going through four days' worth of newspapers, he finally turned on the news; it took less than ten minutes to find a television station with a news program that was rerunning the press conference. Nearly a week later, Red John was still the top story on every channel.

He listened attentively as Hightower gave the press a preliminary statement and answered some of the basic questions from the press, then Lisbon took the podium.

It was only a flicker, one so quick that no one else would notice, but Jane honed in on it right away. He knew then, without a shadow of a doubt; he had seen the uncertainty flash in Lisbon's eyes.

Suddenly, the muted sound of a chair scraping against the patio deck halts his train of thought. He immediately turns his neck to see the woman in question taking the seat across from him. "Good morning, Lisbon," he greets her with a bright smile and checks the clock on the side of the building. As expected, she is five minutes early.

"Morning, Jane."

She takes a sip of her coffee. Though outwardly she appears to be as calm and collected as always, he can see the beginnings of dark circles forming under her eyes. She didn't leave the office until after 11:00 the night before, instead insisting that she up the first box of interview tapes before going home.

When he asks her how she is, she fixes him with a pointed stare and quirks an eyebrow in punctuation. "I'm not the one who slept at the office last night," Lisbon teases gently, smiling over the brim of her coffee cup. "I should be asking you."

Jane shrugs his shoulders. "I asked first."

She mirrors his gesture, tutting quietly. "You don't usually ask."

"Would you rather I guess?" He taps his fingers against the side of the table. "Because I could."

She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, _'it figures,'_ but doesn't waver when she meets his eyes and tells him that she's fine. If Jane didn't know better, he could pretend not to see the thin creases barely visible in her forehead and around the corners of her eyes. He considers pressing, but decides against it.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

Jane pretends to look confused. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on." Lisbon releases her grip on the coffee cup and leans forward in her seat.

"You called me at 6:00 in the morning to ask if we could meet before work. What's going on, Jane? Is it the case?"

"Everything is fine," he reassures her. "And it has nothing to do with the case - at least, not directly. I just thought you could use a break before you go into the office and get bombarded with evidence and interview logs."

"Right." Obviously unconvinced, she eyes him skeptically. "And if I had been asleep when you called?"

"I knew you'd be awake, so it was safe to call." Trying to insert as much levity as possible into their conversation, he adds, "I would never tempt fate like that."

She laughs.

"Yeah, right."

"No, I mean it. You deserve a break."

Lisbon tilts her head inquisitively, silent and suddenly serious. "Are you okay, Jane? With the case? With everything?"

He's honestly surprised that she managed to temper herself thus far, only now voicing her concern verbally. He meets her eyes, matching her sincerity. "You don't have to worry about me, Lisbon."

She hesitates at this, her lip jutting out dubiously. Anticipating both her unease and the direction in which their conversation is heading, Jane intervenes before Lisbon can continue any further down this current path. His intention when arranging their early morning meeting was to alleviate some of her worry, not add to it.

"C'mon," he says, motioning with one hand as he rises from his seat. "I know you want to get to the office before Hightower comes looking for you. Let's go."

Lisbon inhales deeply. She casts one last look around the patio and nods in assent. Gripping her to-go cup in one hand, she leads him the long way around the building and onto the sidewalk.

Jane waits for just a few moments before falling into step.

xxx

It takes them a little over five minutes to walk back to the office. It isn't quite 8:00 yet, so they slip inside just before the early morning rush, arriving on the Serious Crimes floor without any incident. Cho and Van Pelt are both sitting at their desks. Cho is wearing headphones, obviously listening to an old interview tape; Van Pelt's attention barely falters from the computer screen in front of her.

Lisbon disappears into her office, and Jane reclines back on his sofa, settling in for the morning.

He spent most of the previous night mulling over everything they knew about Red John, from the outline scrawled out on Lisbon's white board to the details in the boxes stacked on her office floor. It was the first night he'd spent lying awake at the office in months.

The fact that Lisbon noticed had not escaped him.

Jane had downplayed her observation, shrugging it off when she mentioned it, but it had given him even more to think about.

He had finally given up the motel room he rented by the month and instead bought a townhouse here in Sacramento. More significant, however, was the fact that he finally sold his home in Malibu.

It had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done, selling the property and moving to Sacramento for good. It had not even been a conscious decision. The same afternoon that he first saw the CBI Press Conference, he came to several conclusions.

The first was that he wanted to continue to work for the CBI, with the team. Somewhere along the way, his role as consultant had become more than simply a way to pass the time and gain access to the Red John file. He actually enjoyed working with the team, and they were the only people left in his life.

The second was that he wasn't angry. It would probably take him a long time to come to terms with the fact that he hadn't been able to exact his revenge on the man who had taken everything from him, but Jane still wasn't angry. If Lisbon hadn't taken that shot when she did, there would certainly have been other casualties, and too many people had already died at Red John's bidding. Jane would never regret that it was over.

The third was that it was time to sell the house. It hadn't been his _home_ in seven years, and now that Red John was out of the picture, there didn't seem to be any need to continue to hold on to a place that was ultimately his last link to the killer. He would move to Sacramento as part of continuing on with the CBI, and he would take the memories of his wife and daughter with him.

The last was that he needed to share the previous three with Lisbon. Jane considered catching the very next flight to Sacramento and showing up on her doorstep, but then immediately brushed those thoughts aside. It was Friday afternoon, and she would be packing up to go home for the weekend. He could start to put his affairs in order and tell her first thing on Monday morning.

But when he arrived at CBI Headquarters just two days later, her office was locked and Lisbon was nowhere to be found.

Jane's initial letdown that she hadn't come in yet was nothing compared to the bitter disappointment he felt when he realized that she wasn't coming in at all. The need for a break after the chaos of the previous week was completely understandable, but when Lisbon's vacation stretched from a few days to nearly three weeks, his desire to share these revelations with her slowly began to dissipate.

When she arrived back at work, she seemed genuinely surprised to see him. At first, things between them were stilted and formal, and it took several weeks and four cases before they began to fall back into some semblance of their normal pattern, of their lives _before_.

It was not a perfect arrangement. There were still things Jane wanted to tell Lisbon and, he suspected, there were also things Lisbon kept to herself. He felt caught between the past and the future, wanting to move forward yet unwilling to clear the air, and Lisbon was as stubborn as he was on the matter.

Her actions over the last 24 hours prove that she remains as stubborn and selfless as ever, concerned more for his well being than for her own in spite of the direct threats received from this new killer. He despises the fact that Lisbon has become such an integral part of this unknown player's game, to the point where she has been directly referenced in messages from both Red John and Red John's apparent nemesis.

A thought occurs to him, and Jane sits up suddenly, alert.

_The letters_.

He strides over to her office, urgency in every footstep, and immediately calls her to attention.

"Lisbon!"

She stops typing and looks up from her keyboard. "Yes, Jane?"

"Do you have the Bible we took from Red John's storage locker yesterday, or is it still being processed for evidence?"

Lisbon pauses to consider this for a second.

"Forensics processed it last night, and I logged it back with the rest of the evidence when we got in this morning." She points to a box sitting at the foot of her sofa. "It should be in there with everything else."

"And forensics didn't find anything out of the ordinary?" he verified, walking over to the evidence box and retrieving the leather-bound Bible.

Lisbon raises an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction as he flips through the pages.

"What are you looking for?"

"Red John's note was marking his place," Jane explains, still thumbing through pages. "This Bible is in perfect condition," he continues, stopping only once he finally locates the page in question. "It doesn't look like it's even been read, but there was a passage underlined. I saw it when you found the note."

Jane places the Bible down on her desk and watches as she reads intently. Though he is not religious by any meaning of the word, he knows that she is familiar with the line.

_Say not, "As he did to me, so will I do to him; I will repay the man according to his deeds."_

Lisbon looks up slowly, narrowing her eyebrows in concentration.

"Do you really think this means anything?" she asks. "I looked up the verse he left in the note itself just to be sure. It's from Galatians, but I think Red John is just toying with you. He obviously knows how you feel about religion, and he's using it against you."

Jane meets her eyes as he refutes her theory. "You may be right, but that is only an added benefit. He left that note for me, but those Bible verses are for you. I don't believe in God, and you do. This isn't about religion; it's about _you_. He wanted to single you out."

"No." Lisbon closes the Bible emphatically and shakes her head in rapid succession. "No, he couldn't have. He had no way of knowing -"

"He didn't have to," Jane interrupts, placing one hand against the cool leather of the binding. "Hardy, Bosco," he lists, noting the way her eyes flicker downward at the mention of her former mentor. "You have always been an important part of the investigation, and Red John knew that. He didn't have to know what would happen last July to taunt us both in his final letter."

"Jane, you can't be serious," she protests in obvious disbelief. "If you're right, what does that mean?"

"It means exactly what you think it means. You need to be extremely vigilant, Lisbon; you _are_ at risk here."

She shrugs, picking up the Bible and rising from her desk. Walking to her office sofa with slow, deliberate steps, she leans over to return the book to the evidence box. Her chest heaves a sigh and she sinks down against the sofa cushions.

"I've been at risk before, and I'll be at risk again." Her eyes are wide and honest as she answers; she remains composed despite his suggestion. "I'm not worried about me."

Jane joins her on the sofa, choosing the seat directly next to her; close but not touching.

"Are you expecting me to worry for the both of us?" he jokes, feigning indignation.

"Nah." Her lips curl in a half smile and Lisbon shifts back, making herself comfortable. "I wouldn't want you to tax yourself."

"Good," he laughs just as something catches his eye. Instead of following her lead, he leans forward and reaches out for the newspaper stacked at the far end of the sofa. "Is this today's paper?" Jane asks.

"Yeah, I picked it up on my way out the door this morning, but I haven't even had a chance to look at it yet."

Jane scans the headlines rapidly, skimming through each successive article with increasing dread. When he finishes, he passes the front page to Lisbon. The lead story stares back at them in bold block lettering: _RED JOHN'S ACCOMPLICE STRIKES IN SACRAMENTO. IS THERE MORE TO COME?_

Lisbon finally glances up, her eyes reflecting the same sense of foreboding Jane feels enveloping them both.

"The articles are all calling him 'The Accomplice.'" She crosses her arms protectively over her chest as she speaks, her eyes focused behind him at a nondescript spot on the wall. "But from everything we have on him so far, the one thing we do know is that he considers himself superior to Red John and he's out to prove that."

"And that is precisely why this is going to be a problem," Jane affirms, still focused on the offending newspaper. "This is only going to make him angry. He'll kill again - and soon."

xxxxx

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**A/N:** So, three months later here we are. I apologize profusely for the delay, but I struggled with this chapter and just couldn't get it to work for me. As it turns out, I like to drag things out and make them more complicated for myself. Let's just call this the calm before the storm, and hope that it was (relatively) worth your wait.

Chapter title by The Shins. As always, thanks so much to Yana for betaing, and to everyone who has taken the time to review. It is much appreciated :)


	5. Uphill Battle

**chapter four**

Uphill Battle

xxxxx

A sense of foreboding permeates the air as Lisbon inserts tape after tape into the cassette player. Even when broken down between the five of them, there are still days' worth of interviews, but it's the only chance they have of discovering any leads.

As it stands, there is no forensic evidence to speak of, and Jane's warning that another murder is imminent only fills the team with greater urgency.

Lisbon does not even know what they are looking for, only that there was some connection between Red John and their killer, one that they assume predates Red John's known murders in 1998. From the letter, the team has also surmised that that the reference to Red John making it personal could mean that a clue to the link exists - at least to some degree - in one of Red John's victims.

Lisbon has holed herself off in her office for privacy, while the rest of the team each found an empty interview room or secluded corners of the bullpen with their respective box of interview tapes. Even Jane put headphones in before resuming his customary position on his couch; every so often, she could see him move to change tapes.

Sighing, she hits eject as yet another interview ends without giving her any further insight. It has been three hours, and what little patience she has left is wearing thin. A quick sweep of the bullpen reveals that the rest of her team seems to be feeling the same frustration.

With great care, Lisbon removes the tape and places it back in its case before selecting the next one from the second box beside her desk. She glances at the label as she inserts it into her cassette player and depresses the 'play' button: _Amber O'Brien_. It's taken her several hours, but she has finally moved on to Red John's second victim.

Just over fifteen minutes later, she pauses the interview, rewinds the tape, and plays it again. She repeats this twice more, just to be certain.

Then, she rises slowly from her desk, using one hand to steady herself, and walks over to her office door to call for Jane.

She has to call a second time because her voice betrays her the first.

He sits up and nods in acknowledgement, curiosity evident in his expression. Removing the headphones from his ears, he places his assigned interview tapes to one side and abandons his perch.

"What's going on?" He tilts his head inquisitively and follows her inside; the door swings shut behind him. "Did you find something?"

"I - I think I may have. I want to know what you think."

She exhales forcefully and presses play one more time. The tape is over ten years old, so it protests a little before voices fill her otherwise silent office

_"Thank you for your time, Mr. Lutz." The gruff voice belongs to Agent Norman Gregory, the head of the Serious Crimes Unit nine years ago; he retired before Lisbon joined the CBI. "If there is anything else you can think of, please do not hesitate to contact us."_

_"I don't have anything that would be useful to your investigation." A second voice, even and reserved. This is Karl Lutz, the victim's brother, with whom she was staying at the time of her murder while her husband was away on business. According to the case file, Lutz came home from work to discover the body in his guest bedroom._

_"You don't have any information useful to the investigation, or you don't have any information at all? Mr. Lutz, anything could be helpful, so please do not hold back."_

_"Holding back? No one wants to find the man who did this more than I do." For the first time in the course of the interview, Lutz raises his voice. "I will be looking long after you stop. You know what they say, an eye for an eye..."_

Lisbon glances at her desk and pauses the tape; she can feel Jane's eyes on her.

"I can't explain it, but I think this is our guy."

"You're right."

"I'm right?" She pauses to finger the label on the cassette cover. "You think -?"

"You were expecting more resistance? Usually that's your job." Jane interrupts, gently teasing; his expression immediately sobers and he adds, "I think you're right; this is him."

"Agent Gregory's notes are brief and vague; apparently he didn't think anything of Lutz at the time. He writes that 'Lutz is grieving and obviously upset, but doesn't appear to know anything.'" Her voice trails off, and she pauses, deep in thought. "I can't blame him. If I didn't know I was looking for something, I wouldn't have noticed either. But when he said 'an eye for an eye,' I knew it couldn't be a coincidence. It's too much. Red John, this..."

"No, definitely not a coincidence." Jane sits down on the sofa, his usually impeccable posture bent forward and his expression one of rapt attention. "What information do you have on him?"

"Not much yet. Karl Lutz was 31 when his sister, Amber O'Brien, was killed by Red John twelve years ago, in June of 1999. He worked construction at the time, and he went out for a few beers with some friends after working his shift. He didn't find Amber's body until he got home. By that time, she'd already been dead for hours. Gregory only brought Lutz in once and decided he didn't know anything."

Lisbon picks up her notebook and begins to pace slowly.

"Amber O'Brien was Red John's second victim." She speaks quickly; this is information they both know already. "She was 26 when she was killed. Her murder matches all of Red John's others: the cutting style and the smiley face. There _was_ one thing, though; when I was looking back through the case file, I noticed that her right ear was cut off in the attack. It wasn't a clean cut, very unlike his usual style, so we've always assumed it was unintentional, maybe the result of Amber trying to fight back somehow. But what if -"

"What if this was his way of making it personal?" Jane finishes, standing up from the sofa and moving beside her, reaching out with one hand to halt her tracks.

"Red John only breaks pattern when it's personal." Lisbon doesn't dare meet his eyes; she knows his shame and self-loathing all too well. "It's very possible."

"It isn't just possible; it's probable. Lisbon, this is it. He's the one."

She turns and immediately exits her office with Jane on her heels. Out in the bullpen, she quickly gathers the rest of the team and explains to them what she's found.

When she finishes, Van Pelt is the first to speak. "Okay, so we think he's the one. What do we do now?"

"We find out everything we can about him. Van Pelt, I want you to pull up everything you can on Lutz. Cho, I want you to take Amber O'Brien; forget everything we know about her and start from the beginning. Rigsby, why don't you start by looking at Amber's husband," she pauses to take another look at her case notes. "Thomas O'Brien."

The team quickly disperses to their respective assignments, leaving Jane and Lisbon standing together at the edge of the bullpen.

"So." Jane's eyes are focused on Rigsby and Van Pelt, who are both hard at work at their computers. "What's my assignment?"

"Your assignment?" She smiles in spite of herself, relief washing over her that they at least have a suspect now. "Stay out of trouble, and maybe go through the rest of the Amber O'Brien tapes to see if you pick up on something from any of the other interviews."

"And you are ...?" He asks when she turns towards the elevators.

"I'm going to meet with Hightower." She laughs, for what seems to be the first time all day. "You're apparently losing your touch, Jane. I meant what I said: stay out of trouble. I'll be back once I've brought Hightower up to date."

xxx

When Lisbon arrives back on the fourth floor, she finds Jane sitting at her desk; she tries to think of the last time she saw Jane working at _any_ desk, but her mind draws a blank.

Shaking her head, she coughs to announce her presence as she walks through the doorway.

"Have you found anything?"

Jane looks up and pauses the tape player. "Well, O'Brien's husband is known as Reverend Thomas O'Brien. I'm not entirely sure if it means anything yet, but Van Pelt is going to run a background check on him just in case."

"That's good, Jane. Thanks."

Jane meets her eyes for a moment, a subdued but curious expression from which she can't quite decipher meaning. He straightens himself and abandons her desk.

"What did Hightower have to say?" he asks, but his question hangs in the air, unanswered.

At that very moment, Van Pelt arrives at the door.

"Boss?" She says urgently. "Local law enforcement just called. There's been another murder."

xxx

Lisbon slams the car door and walks up the front steps of the single-story townhouse with Jane trailing behind her. The local police are waiting behind the open front door, and a woman with short blonde hair who appears not much older than Lisbon herself steps forward and introduces herself as Lieutenant Arsura.

"The victim is Paula Connelly, 44. Divorced, no kids. Neighbor came by to drop off a book that he borrowed, and he found the door ajar. We weren't sure at first, but we called you guys as soon as we got a good look at the body. It isn't a perfect match based on the memo that you sent out, but we did see the smiley face on the victim's abdomen."

"What do you mean, 'it isn't a perfect match'?" Lisbon follows Arsura inside. Jane and several CSU techs follow suit.

Arsura doesn't have to answer; as soon as they step into the bedroom, Lisbon has to swallow hard and steady herself at the sight before her.

Where Jennifer Howell had been dead for over twelve hours before they arrived at the scene, Paula Connelly's body is still fresh, not yet cold. Her body lies face up and lifeless on the bed; through the tattered remnants of her shirt, knife marks are visible on her chest and neck with the trademark smiley face carved into her abdomen just as Arsura described. However, these are not their victim's only injuries.

The skin on her face is burnt and blistered around her eyes, presumably from some kind of chemical bleach that would have left her blind, and both ears have been severed and laid out beside her.

Lisbon feels Jane brush past her to inspect the body more closely. She can't seem to move, and instead remains rooted to the spot while the CSU team begins to bustle around her.

While Jane is studying the burn marks on their victim's face, she finally finds her voice. "He cut off her ears before he killed her." She takes slow, deliberate steps and finally joins him at the bedside. "It _has_ to be Lutz."

Jane nods solemnly. "It's him. And he's escalated faster than I expected. He left her blind and deaf before he tortured her."

A chill runs down Lisbon's spine at the thought.

"There's one thing that doesn't make sense, though."

Lisbon follows him as he makes his way from the bedroom and back towards the living room. While he remains standing, she perches herself against the arm of the sofa. "What is it?"

"The connection between Paula Connelly and Karl Lutz. Why he chose _her_ as his next victim."

"Maybe there isn't a connection."

Lisbon watches as Jane begins to study the contents of Paula Connelly's shelves with careful attention, fingering the books and photographs as he completes his inspection. When he finishes, he rejoins her next to the sofa.

"There has to be. It's all about revenge for Lutz, so there's something that we don't know about yet."

With a reluctant sigh, she concedes that Jane does have a point. "What kind of connection do you think we're looking for?"

"It could be anything," he says. Though outwardly he sounds optimistic, she can hear the slight trace of frustration in his voice. "She could be someone who was important to Red John, or she could simply have crossed paths with Lutz while he was still associated with Howell."

Lisbon drops her arms to her sides and turns to face him. "If you had to guess, where would you want us to start looking?" she urges gently, not wanting to pressure him but sensing that any extra insight he has would be helpful.

Jane deliberates in complete silence for several minutes before finally answering. "I think this is an old connection. Something obscure, so that it will be difficult for us to track down. Connelly somehow crossed paths with Lutz and Howell while they were still partnered, in whatever capacity that might have been. We still don't know."

"Agent Lisbon?"

Both Lisbon and Jane turn quickly at the interruption, their eyes falling on the young CSU tech who stands at the doorway, appearing uncertain and overwhelmed.

"Yes?"

"Um, we found this... on the body," the tech stammers. "We already dusted it for prints; it's clean."

Lisbon doesn't recognize him and guesses from the slightly pained and nauseated look on his face that this is one of his first cases in the field. She gives him an encouraging look as she takes a letter from his outstretched hands.

"Thank you," she replies, nodding at his retreating form as he disappears back into the bedroom. Lisbon turns to Jane. "Well, we got another letter. At least now we know for sure who they're coming from."

Jane moves next to her, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching, as she unfolds the latest message from their killer.

_Dear mister Jane and agent Lisbon,_

_You would be wise to alert the attention-loving fools in the media that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an accomplice. Their stupidity has forced me to take drastic measures, and I will not hesitate to continue if they are not stopped._

_By now, I am sure you have clues as to who I am. I wonder if you really know, or if you only think you do. Can you put the clues together? Are you really the team that you claim to be? Surely the unit with the highest close rate in the bureau cannot be stumped._

_Or can you?_

_Keep your eyes and ears open._

_That is, if you can._

_Until we meet again. That day may be coming sooner than you think :)_

As Lisbon begins to read the message for the third time, she feels Jane's hand brush tentatively against her shoulder. It only lasts for a moment, but she finds the contact reassuring nonetheless.

She folds the note back over and bags it before putting it in her pocket; she doesn't look up at Jane as she voices her thoughts aloud.

"What do you think it means?"

"I don't know." The sound of the front door opening and closing with a loud thud echoes all the way in the living room where they stand, punctuating his statement.

Cho and Rigsby appear in the doorway as Jane turns to her with a defeated shrug of his shoulders and adds, "But we need to figure out what Karl Lutz and Martin Howell did when they worked together, and what the connection is between the two of them and Paula Connelly. We need to find Lutz soon, or this is only going to escalate."

"What do we have, boss?" Rigsby asks, his expression sober at Jane's last statement.

"More bad news."

Lisbon offers the note from Lutz, placing it in Cho's outstretched hand. When both Cho and Rigbsy finish reading the message, she doles out assignments, sending Rigsby to oversee the scene itself while Cho begins casing Connelly's yard and talking to the neighbors. Once they have dispersed, Lisbon stands in silence with Jane for several minutes, trying to make sense of everything that's happened and hoping in desperation for any guidance to halt this chain of events that threatens to unfold on her watch.

The soft buzz of her cell phone interrupts her musings, and she checks the caller ID before bringing it to her ear. "Lisbon," she answers.

"Boss, it's me," Van Pelt's solemn voice echoes on the other end of the line. "I think you and Jane may want to get back here."

"Have you found something?"

"Well. Yes and no..." Van Pelt grows quiet, and Lisbon can practically hear her junior agent's anxiety through the phone. "I can't find _anything_ on Karl Lutz. The year that his sister died, he filed his taxes and I have a traffic ticket from one year later, but after that, there's nothing. I've checked every database, but I can't get a single hit after the year 2000."

Van Pelt pauses again and takes an audible breath. Lisbon waits patiently as Van Pelt collects her thoughts.

"It's like he just vanished into thin air."

xxxxx

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**A/N:** Check it out. Apparently all I needed to get going with this story was to sign up for and start yet another fic project that I don't have time for... I am now officially working with some of the next chapter already written, and I hope to continue to work with backup since postseason baseball is coming up soon, along with Big Bang at JF and Yuletide. I actually just rearranged my outline for this story so that everything is divided up by chapter, and now I have a (new) target finish date in mind, although I'm not going to share that with you guys because that means I will inevitably blow it ;)

Chapter title by Sarah McLachlan. Thanks to Yana for being such a wonderful and patient beta reader, and to all of you who have taken the time to leave such thoughtful reviews - some of you are incredibly perceptive and you make me feel like I'm doing my job as a writer.


	6. Walking In Circles

**chapter five**

Walking In Circles

xxxxx

Back at CBI Headquarters, Lisbon verifies Van Pelt's findings before immediately disappearing to Hightower's office, undoubtedly to update their boss yet again on the new information they gathered while at Paula Connelly's.

Jane simply watches from his usual reclining position on the couch, still processing the image of Paula Connelly in his mind's eye. It is a disturbing thought, one that Jane has trouble reconciling; to be stripped of both sight and sound, to know that you're being held captive by a mad man and to simply _wait_ for the inevitable torture.

He could not even begin to imagine.

He never thought that there would be a man he could hate the same way he did Red John, but as almost an extension of Red John, Lutz is that man.

Although Jane has no information on Lutz' background yet, the tone of his message is enough to worry Jane almost to the point of distraction. Lutz is cunning and volatile, and the rapid escalation of his crimes alerts Jane to the fact that the killer has mapped out every move in advance and likely has contingency plans already in place.

Jane turns to where Van Pelt sits at her computer. "Grace, can I ask you to check something out for me? I would do it myself, but well -"

"I'll get there faster, I know." Van Pelt smiles in agreement. "What do you need?"

"I want you to look up everything about Paula Connelly's life, but focus on her life prior to 1998."

Van Pelt is no fool, and her face immediately hardens in understanding. "You mean before Red John's first known murder," she clarifies, suspicion evident in her voice.

"Yes, exactly."

"Jane, what are you getting at?"

"There's a reason that Lutz chose her as his next victim; we just don't know what that is yet. Everything about Lutz's actions indicates that he's after recognition and revenge, which tells us that there is a connection, and I think Paula Connelly is somehow linked to the time when Lutz and Red John worked together." Jane focuses his eyes up at the ceiling, as though Elvis somehow holds the answers. "If you can, cross reference anything you find about Connelly's life with unsolved crimes from our database."

"Okay," Van Pelt agrees somewhat skeptically, but Jane can hear her fingers tapping against the keyboard as she begins to type. When he finally breaks his concentration away from the ceiling to sweep his gaze around the bullpen and assess for Lisbon's return, the junior agent is already hard at work.

A little while later, Jane wanders into the kitchen and fixes himself a cup of tea and, after a few moments' thought, a cup of coffee for Van Pelt. He carefully measures out cream and sugar and brings the drinks back into the bullpen.

"Thank you, Jane." Grace smiles appreciatively as he places the steaming cup down on her desk. She takes a long drink and tilts her head, studying him intently. "You really are worried for Lisbon, aren't you?"

The question takes him by surprise, but he recovers his composure quickly. Even so, he decides not to withhold the truth. "Yes, I am."

Van Pelt flashes a wistful smile before focusing her attention back to the computer, her curiosity apparently satisfied, but Jane remains still, his eyes closed, as he contemplates her question.

He is worried about Lisbon, more worried than he's ever been before. Because even when she wasn't herself in the months that followed Bosco's death, when her grief seemed to subconsciously seep into every aspect of her being, there were no direct threats against her life.

Jane had known that she was sad; he of all people could recognize grief, no matter how much she tried to disguise it as something else. But he never once worried about her well being. Instead, he simply tried to insert as much levity as possible into her life whenever he could: from dancing with her at a high school reunion to taking her to one of his favorite restaurants in Napa in Mashburn's car.

Hightower's arrival had complicated things. Lisbon had not been in the proper frame of mind to deal with threats on her job, and between that and the break up of Rigsby and Van Pelt's relationship, the balance under which the team worked so well seemed in danger of collapsing.

In all honesty, that balance had not righted itself until at least a month after Lisbon returned from her vacation, long after Red John was dead and buried.

Jane looks up, his concentration broken as the sound of footsteps echoes from the hallway. Lisbon emerges from around the corner, appearing calm and confident. This is the Lisbon he's always known, a far cry from the shell of a woman she was just a year ago.

"Reverend O'Brien just got here," she announces from the edge of the bullpen. "Van Pelt, why don't you come in on this interview, and Jane, if you want to watch from observation?"

Van Pelt rises quickly, still eager for every chance she gets to come out from behind the desk and prove herself to her boss. Jane follows, although he lags behind the two female agents.

When he arrives in observation, Lisbon and Van Pelt are already seated across from Thomas O'Brien, and Hightower stands behind the two-way mirror, apparently intrigued enough to observe the interview for herself.

"Good afternoon, Jane," she nods tersely in greeting.

Jane returns the gesture before both parties revert their attention back to the interview at hand.

Thomas O'Brien appears older than his 44 years, with graying hair and a bad knee that requires the assistance of a cane.

"I would have had surgery already," O'Brien explains to Lisbon and Van Pelt. "But I'll be off my feet for a few weeks while I recover and no one can fill in for me at the church until next month."

"Reverend O'Brien," Lisbon begins. "I'm sorry to have to bring this up after so long, but we need to ask you some questions about your brother-in-law."

O'Brien appears confused. "My brother-in-law?"

"Yes. Karl Lutz," Van Pelt confirms. "Your wife Amber was his sister. We believe he may have been the reason Red John killed her."

"What does Karl have to do with Red John?"

Lisbon sighs inaudibly, although Jane can see the slight telltale rise and fall of her shoulders. "We believe that Red John and Karl knew each other and that there was bad blood between them. We think that made your wife Amber a target; she was Karl's only living relative." She pauses to allow this to sink in, then she adds, "You've heard in the news that Red John's wife, Jennifer Howell, was killed this week?"

O'Brien nods slowly in comprehension. "The papers said that the guy who did it knew Red John and used to work with him. They're calling him 'The Accomplice.'"

"That's right," Van Pelt says. "And we suspect that this man may be your brother-in-law."

"No, no. It couldn't be Karl."

Lisbon leans forward insistently. "We don't know anything for sure yet, but he's a person of interest in our investigation. We would love to talk to him, but we can't find any record of him after the year 2000. When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"About two months after Amber's funeral. We went out for a couple of beers, and he told me he was going to leave town for a while. I haven't seen or talked to him since."

"And he didn't mention anything about where he was going or how you could get in touch with him?" Lisbon taps her fingers impatiently against the edge of the table, revealing her frustration.

"No. I haven't even thought about Karl in years."

"Okay." Jane watches as Lisbon's shoulders tense and she changes the subject, sensing that the relationship between husband and brother-in-law disintegrated easily after Amber's death. Instead, she opts to change the subject. "Do you know anyone by the name of Paula Connelly?"

O'Brien pauses in contemplation before shaking his head slowly. "No, I don't think so."

"What about Paula Fletcher?" Van Pelt adds. "That was her maiden name."

O'Brien denies this as well.

When Van Pelt starts to ask him questions about the circumstances surrounding his wife's death, Jane focuses less on the answers that O'Brien is giving; Jane knows that information without having it reaffirmed. Instead, he studies O'Brien's appearance, his mannerisms, his facial expressions and reactions.

Jane immediately decides that O'Brien doesn't know anything that is going to help them find Lutz or connect him to Red John, but Jane senses that the reverend isn't entirely above board in all of his dealings. O'Brien, for all intents and purposes, reminds Jane too much of a faith healer who used to travel with the carnival when he was a child.

Not even once Lisbon and Van Pelt start asking questions about what O'Brien remembers about Karl, did Karl ever mention Martin Howell, does O'Brien have anything of use to contribute. In fact, the only important information that O'Brien could give them was the confirmation that Lutz really had disappeared eleven years ago.

The interview finally ends, and Van Pelt escorts O'Brien out of the building while Lisbon retreats to her office to organize her interview notes. Jane and Hightower remain in observation.

Jane clenches his fists, stuffing them into his jacket pockets to conceal any physical evidence of his frustration over reaching yet another dead end.

Hightower notices anyway.

"It was worth it to bring him in," she says. "Even though he couldn't give us anything."

"Well, he can't give us anything on Lutz," Jane says finally, not yet meeting her eye. He shrugs, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. "But I think once we locate Lutz, we need to look deeper into O'Brien anyway. Call it a hunch."

"Jane," Hightower admonishes sternly, folding her arms across her chest. "What's going on with you?"

He finally looks up, staring back at her inquisitively, trying to decipher her intentions, but her expression is unwavering and he is unable to read her. She is, of course, trying to do the same to him, but he refuses to yield until he knows exactly why she is asking.

"I'm fine, Madeleine."

Hightower clears her throat and fixes him with a narrowed gaze.

"You're not fine, _Patrick_."

He glares back at her in response, but says nothing. Hightower is undeterred.

"Oh, I don't think any of the others have noticed; they're just relieved that you haven't caused any trouble. I think they've been expecting it because of the Red John connection. But it's more than that, isn't it Patrick? This is worse."

His hands slide out of his jacket then, falling slack at his side, but Jane stands still in silent acknowledgement of the accuracy of Hightower's claims. Reluctantly, he meets her eyes, but the only emotions visible are those of concern and understanding.

Preferring to play this off by use of cliché, he says, "One step forward, two steps back."

"There are plenty of leads still to run down. Potential former associates who may have an idea of how Lutz would have disappeared, the connection between Lutz and Howell, any information we can get on Paula Connelly. Now that he's acting out in retaliation for the media headlines, maybe he'll make a mistake."

In spite of himself, Jane laughs quietly. "Lisbon has been feeding you that optimism, hasn't she?"

Hightower smirks knowingly. "Ahhh, now we've hit on the real problem."

"And what problem is that?"

"Agent Lisbon. She's worried about you, you know. She's worried about how you're holding up."

He hesitates; confiding in Hightower is very different from being honest with Van Pelt, but he realizes that he may need Hightower's support on this. "As I told both of you before, I'm not the one anyone should be worrying about."

"You think I'm being unfair," she challenges, arms still crossed over her chest, a distinct display of her authority.

He mimics her posture before leaning against the wall, and he counters, "I think you're underestimating one of your best agents in order to keep me in line. You still don't think I'm going to behave, so you're keeping the truth from the one person who really needs to be told. She deserves that much, Madeleine. She's more than earned it."

"If Lisbon hasn't realized it yet..."

"Of course she hasn't realized!" he interrupts, his voice rising. "If you think that knowing her life is in danger is going to somehow compromise Lisbon's professionalism, then you've underestimated her more than I thought."

At this, Hightower stiffens. "I regret that I have to point this out, but she was off her game when we first met."

"And threatening her didn't exactly help things, did it?"

"I did what I had to do, and that is exactly what I am doing now," she says sternly.

Jane throws a skeptical glance her way, simultaneously amused and annoyed by Hightower's steadfast belief that threatening Lisbon's job was the right thing to do. The silence hangs heavy in the air between them, giving Hightower pause.

Still, after a moment of consideration, she adds, "I don't know what she did when she took that vacation, but whatever it was, the time away did her some good."

Involuntarily, Jane snaps to attention as an uncomfortable twinge passes through his chest. Hightower's words conjure up unpleasant emotions that he hasn't had time to reflect on since they found Jennifer Howell's body. He remembers now though, and his frustration with the woman watching him only grows.

Unaware of the true source of Jane's consternation, Hightower continues. "I know we've both speculated that she's the real target, but are you sure, Jane? These are the actions of a madman who is trying to prove his superiority to Red John. Your own feelings could be clouding your judgment."

His fists clench again, and this time he does not hide his irritation, caught off guard both by her assertion and the knot that is now constant against his ribs. Yet he forces himself to take a steadying breath, establishing some composure before forming his reply. "And yet I am the one who is airing on the side of caution."

"We have different ideas of what caution is," Hightower replies, stern and insistent. "I would never put Agent Lisbon's life in danger."

"Then we have to _tell_ her!"

Jane's emphatic exclamation reverberates in the dimly-lit room, betraying the full extent of his concern. He immediately steps closer to Hightower, prepared to challenge her if necessary, but the older woman stares back at him with a resolute expression, narrowed eyes searching for a chink in his armor. They are both so caught up in their silent argument that neither notices the open door or the third person in the room, until she clears her throat, speaking with a tone that is almost hauntingly calm and composed.

"Tell me what?"

xxxxx

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**A/N:** I actually wasn't going to post this until tomorrow, but as it turns out, the tag fic I wrote for last week's episode refuses to cooperate with me, leading to much frustration (understatement). So this is what you're getting instead.

I'm managing (for me) with the semi-regular updates. I think they're probably going to stay as is, once every 2-3 weeks. Ideally every two weeks, but hopefully no longer than three. That said, I may not have a lot of time to write in the next week and a half and I'm already WAY behind schedule on Big Bang, so the next one may take longer. I'm warning you now because I know that I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger. We're coming up on the action soon. This chapter, well, it's not exactly filler, but the next few are close to my heart, in terms of things I've been planning since Day 1 back in April.

Anyway, chapter title by Azure Ray. Thanks to Yana for betaing, and to everyone who reviewed. It may take me a little while to answer everyone personally this go round, but I really do appreciate it :)


	7. Don't Panic

**chapter six**

Don't Panic

xxxxx

Lisbon takes one final look at the notes she took during the interview with O'Brien, exhaling long and hard while rubbing her temple with one hand. It had been a complete waste of time, and she feels herself begin to succumb to frustration.

When she first sat down at her desk, she planned to organize her notes, but she realizes now that her time would be better spent following up on leads that might actually be useful. Back in the bullpen, she notices as Van Pelt returns from escorting O'Brien to the lobby.

"Van Pelt," she calls out. "Have you seen Jane?"

"Uh, I think he may still be in observation with Hightower," the junior agent answers. "But I haven't seen either of them."

"Alright, thanks."

Lisbon turns and heads back around the corner towards the interview room. She opens the door quietly and finds Jane and Hightower actively engaged in a heated argument.

She almost turns around to slip out, unnoticed, when she realizes that she is the topic of their conversation.

_"These are the actions of a madman who is trying to prove his superiority to Red John. Your own feelings could be clouding your judgment."_

_"And yet I am the one who is airing on the side of caution."_

_"We have different ideas of what caution is. I would never put Agent Lisbon's life in danger."_

_"Then we have to _tell_ her!"_

At Jane's insistent claim, she can keep silent no longer. Lisbon clears her throat and interjects.

"Tell me what?"

Jane and Hightower turn on their heels to face her; genuine shock registers on both of their faces.

"Tell me what?" she repeats, this time more forcefully.

Jane recovers faster than Hightower; so rare are the occasions when Lisbon can recall seeing Jane truly startled. He makes a broad gesture with one arm and says, "Why don't we talk about this in your office?"

"Jane," Hightower interrupts warningly.

"No." His tone is firm as he shakes his head defiantly before turning his body toward the door and ignoring her completely.

Without allowing any more time for their boss to argue with them, Lisbon follows his lead as Jane ushers her toward her office, leaving Hightower standing alone, annoyed and frustrated in their wake.

The office door swings forcefully shut behind Lisbon as soon as they make their way inside, and she turns to glower at Jane, who immediately perches himself on the couch.

"So." She folds her arms protectively over her chest. Her tone is biting, caustic, and Jane has the good nature to soften his face apologetically. Lisbon, however, pays no attention to the expression on his face and simply continues, "Are you going to tell me what this is about, or is this another one of your guessing games?"

"Lisbon."

Jane sighs and motions for her to sit down beside him; she acquiesces reluctantly by settling herself on the exact opposite end of the couch and narrowing her eyes expectantly in his direction.

"Okay," she says. "I'm waiting."

For the first time, she notices a slight hesitation visible in his posture. This is not the Patrick Jane she recognizes, not the man who spends the majority of his time hiding behind masks. Before her, he wears regret plainly like he would his three-piece suits.

"This is all my fault," he begins. "I should have come to you in the beginning, but I needed to be sure..."

"So you brought it to Hightower instead?" Lisbon interrupts, stunned disbelief evident in her voice. Jane has gone behind her back before, but never once to their boss, to the woman whom Lisbon still could not fully trust. "How could you?"

Jane holds up his hand to quiet her, imploring her to hear him out. "I never said I went to Hightower intentionally," he soothes, although the crease in her forehead persists in spite of this. "We simply shared the same theory independently, and you overheard us disagreeing on its merits."

"Right, then." Lisbon raises a skeptical eyebrow and purses her lips. "What is this theory, and more importantly, what does it have to do with my life being in danger? This isn't news to me. I've read Lutz' notes too."

"It's more than the notes, Lisbon."

His admission comes gently, with a near-timidity that makes him seem unprepared; he was not expecting to have to tell her this, not under these circumstances. The thought startles her, but her anger pushes forward.

"I have two women dead, a crazed killer on the loose, and the press is having a field day. Not to mention the fact that my boss is now apparently keeping secrets from me." She scowls disapprovingly, sits forward in her seat. "Out with it, Jane. I have better things to do right now."

Jane flinches at the harshness in her tone, but he collects himself quickly and slides down the length of the sofa, closing the distance between them. When he is sitting directly next to her, he reaches out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She pulls away, fights free from his grasp, and he doesn't press the issue.

Instead, he looks directly into her eyes and begins his explanation. "I have reason to believe that you're Lutz' real target. Hightower has had similar theories, although she is less certain."

Blinking back stress and fatigue mixed with genuine ire, Lisbon rotates her neck and tries to process his words. "I'm assuming you have a reason for this," she says with a sigh, after some consideration. "You said it was more than the notes he's been leaving for us."

Nodding, Jane continues, "What do we know about Lutz so far? Not much except that he worked with Red John a long time ago and that his entire purpose right now is to get revenge and prove his superiority."

"So you're saying that he's going to come after me because I killed Red John? I'm a cop, Jane. You really think I haven't considered the possibility?"

"I never thought you hadn't," he answers calmly. "But there's more to it than that. Lutz picked up where Red John left off, and thus far has proven he is to be taken seriously. Hightower and I both independently believe that implies one of his main goals will be to get revenge on the CBI, but it also means he will be assuming the one task that Red John never completed. He's going to come after me to prove his superiority."

"Okay." Her reply comes slowly, as though the thoughts jumbled in her head are drawing them out one by one. "I follow you on that. What I don't understand is what you think that has to do with me."

His composure falters, and he exhales deeply before speaking. "Lutz is going to come after me indirectly by going after the most important person in my life."

Lisbon feels the enormity of his words before their utterance, and she looks away as he continues.

"He's going to come after me through you."

Her eyes dart around the room; her voice fails her. Through the blinds, she sees Cho and Rigsby return to the bullpen as all three of her agents gather at Van Pelt's desk, deep in discussion. Finally turning back to Jane, she swallows hard and narrows her eyes at him. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that."

"You don't have to say anything, Lisbon. I'm sorry."

His tone is subdued, his eyes full of sorrow and guilt, and she snaps, standing up from her perch on the sofa in a sudden fit of fury. Once on her feet, it gives her the momentary illusion of towering over him. He slinks back, startled by her outburst. Then her anger boils over.

"You're _sorry_?" She raises her voice, her indignation cutting through the office like a knife, but she refuses to yell loud enough to be heard outside of the safe confines of her office. "You're sorry? You don't get to be sorry. Not about this. You can't keep things like this from me! And what's worse is that you talked to Hightower about it. If you think you're helping me, you're not. I can't do this case if you're going to pull this crap on me, Jane. I can't do it. I thought we were over this."

The Jane that sits in front of her appears appropriately chastised, remains stark still and silent as she gapes at him, reeling.

"I didn't want to tell you until I was sure," he says finally. "Didn't want you to worry."

Her face tightens, an ironic smile contorting her expression. "Well, I hope you're happy. I'm not worried."

"Lisbon -"

"Don't, Jane. Don't say anything. Don't try to explain." Her fists clench tightly in frustration, and she rests them emphatically on her hips. "I don't need you to protect me, and I certainly never asked you to. I need some time. Just - _leave_."

She steps aside and makes way for him, her eyes trained on his retreating form as he trudges slowly over to the door. He turns and meets her gaze, lingers in the doorway before opening his mouth to speak, yet he decides against it. The unspoken apology hangs unanswered, barely even acknowledged, between them.

Lisbon waits until he has disappeared into the kitchen before falling back on the sofa, one hand rubbing her temple as reality overwhelms her and she collapses defeat.

xxx

Ten minutes pass before Lisbon moves from the couch; still shaken, but much calmer than she had been when Jane left.

Sitting down at her desk, she releases one long, shuddering breath and steadies herself. Her eyes fall on the coffee mug that she abandoned earlier. What's left of her coffee will be cold now, and she does not dare return to the kitchen for a little while, not until she is prepared to face Jane again.

She considers his words, his warnings and speculations. Could they be true? She always assumed her life would be in danger; that much was a given with a case like this. But what if Jane's theory was correct?

Well, for one thing, it would mean that her life was in even more danger than she had previously imagined. But even more than that, it would signal that his inference was correct; that she is the most important person in his life.

On one level, that assumption is simply a logical step. There are few people in Patrick Jane's life; he's kept himself distant for too long. As far as she knows, the only people he sees on a regular basis are employed by CBI; of those, she is the only person who makes sense.

Deeper than that, though, is the way his eyes implied truth. He believed every word he said, believed that his actions were justified.

But he betrayed her, and she remains unconvinced, uncertain. There must be a bigger picture here, one that no one has seen yet.

Her initial anger has subsided, but Lisbon sits, silently fuming, when the phone rings minutes later. She takes a deep breath, composing herself before bringing the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Teresa. Is this a bad time?"

She feels relief wash over her and answers, "Virgil. No, this is fine. I'm taking a break."

"I'm glad I caught you, then," he says. "I just got back from Marilynn's this morning and caught up on the news." Lisbon nods, remembering the two week trip he planned to visit his daughter in Florida. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"We're holding up," she tells him, but she sees no reason to lie to her mentor. "I've had better weeks, though. I really thought we were done with Red John."

"We all did," he admits.

The line falls silent for a few moments, but Lisbon finds even the silent presence of her former boss comforting.

"Has Jane given you any trouble?" he asks finally.

"Not in the way that you'd expect," she says, sighing. She runs her free hand over her face and does not wait for Minelli to ask before the entire story begins to tumble from her lips.

She relates only the basics of the case, most of which he could get from the news, but there is a feeling of normalcy as she gives him a rudimentary briefing. It is somehow easier to lose herself momentarily in the belief that this is just another case.

Minelli's voice breaks that illusion. "What is it about Jane and this case that has you so worried, Teresa?" he interrupts, after allowing her to talk for a few minutes.

Swallowing hard, she admits, "He has these theories that I'm the real target through all of this. It's been a lot to take in."

"Nobody knows Jane's hunches better than you do. What do your instincts tell you?"

"That he's probably right," Lisbon says, exhaling heavily. She leans forward on her elbow to support herself. "It's even more than the current case. Red John left us a Bible in a storage locker at the train station. He underlined several verses on revenge. I thought it was Red John taunting Jane, but Jane seems to think the opposite. He thinks Red John singled me out a long time ago."

"It was always something I worried about. After all, you were the lead agent on the case..." He pauses for a moment, but Lisbon senses there is more on her mentor's mind. "And you were also the person closest to Jane."

"Now, I always knew you could take care of yourself, but that never stopped me from worrying. And my guess is that it never stopped Jane from worrying, either."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"What have I told you about calling me 'sir'?" he says with a small chuckle. He pauses, his tone growing serious again before he continues, "I know this goes without saying, but when it comes to anything Red John related, even your current case, Jane is both your greatest asset and your greatest liability. For him though, now that Red John is out of the picture, your safety has become his greatest weakness. I'm not saying that I trust him or that he won't continue to cause you more frustration and headaches than he should, but for better or worse, you are important to him, Teresa. Maybe I'm becoming soft in my old age, but if even I can see it, then his concern makes perfect sense."

Lisbon sits up stock straight, albeit somewhat unsteadily; she can feel her heart pounding in her chest. The enormity of Minelli's words - and their implications - threaten to swallow her whole.

"So what do I do about it?" she asks, her voice soft and her words almost broken.

"The same thing you always do, Teresa," Minelli answers, in a confident but unusually tender voice. "Trust your instincts. Be careful." He pauses for a moment in consideration, then adds sarcastically, "And keep Jane chained to your desk if you have to. If he can't wander off, he can't get into trouble."

Shaking her head slightly, Lisbon laughs in response. "You think chains would really keep Jane in one place, Virgil?"

"Probably not, but at least it would give you a five minute head start."

xxxxx

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**A/N:** Alright! A little bit on the late side, but here you have it. I did want to say that I'm putting this story on **temporary hiatus** until mid-December. If I have any hope of finishing Big Bang on time, I need to focus on that for a while, and I think I need a bit of a break from this fic anyway. Besides, this is a far better place to leave off than any of the next few chapters. I have no intention of abandoning this story (and I'll continue working on it over my posting hiatus), but I want to give myself some time. Expect the next chapter sometime mid-December, maybe the week of the 13th if I make reasonable progress with BB. Honestly, that's not that much longer than my usual lapse between chapters! ;)

This doesn't mean you're rid of me until December, though. I've got a couple of shorter things in the works, some of which are even light and fun (shocking, I know!), and at least one of which I intend to finish before the month is over.

Chapter title by Coldplay. As always, thanks to Yana for betaing, and thanks to those of you who took the time to review. I know I'm horribly inconsistent with my updates, but you guys are wonderful.


	8. Ways & Means

**chapter seven**

Ways & Means

xxxxx

Jane wanders aimlessly around the Serious Crimes floor for at least fifteen minutes after leaving Lisbon's office at her insistence; in an uncharacteristic display that would set off alarm bells with Lisbon, if only she were paying attention. She is used to him wandering off at crime scenes, strolling through a garden or casually perusing bookshelves at victims' homes instead of participating in the traditional investigative process. But within the confines of the CBI, his habits are far more stationary; his location at any given time limited primarily to his couch, her couch, and the kitchen.

Jane stops at Van Pelt's desk twice to inquire into her progress in the search through Paula Connelly's past, but other than that, he does not stop to talk to anybody for too long. He fixes himself another cup of tea, but even that does not calm him the way that it should, the way that it usually does.

He purposefully avoids lingering in any one place, particularly in anyplace where he might be in Lisbon's line of sight. He had not wanted to tell her like that. What he _really_ wanted was to find out that he was wrong and that he would never have to tell her at all. Unfortunately, as he learned more, he became more concerned instead of less, and his conversation with Hightower only brought the issue to the forefront.

It was a great relief that Lisbon now knew. Still, this was not how he had wanted to tell her.

He cannot forget the look on her face when the truth came out. He would have preferred straight anger. The underlying betrayal had been worse.

On his fourth loop past Lisbon's office, he notices that she is on the phone, and that she appears to be a little more relaxed, joking with the person on the other end of the line. With a sigh, Jane abandons his wanderings and heads for the elevators. He realizes that it is going to take some time to make up for this particular offense, so he may as well get started.

Almost two hours later and five different stores later, he is standing in line with his purchase in hand when his phone rings. He glances at the screen to check his caller ID: Cho. Lisbon obviously is not ready to talk just yet.

Jane hits 'accept' and brings the phone to his ear to answer it.

"Lisbon wanted me to find out where you were and if you were planning on coming back to the office anytime soon," Cho says without wasting any time on friendly greetings. "We think Van Pelt has found the connection to Paula Connelly, and Boss wants to know what you think."

"I can be back in twenty minutes," Jane replies, reaching the cash register and taking out his wallet. After mouthing an apology and smiling at the teenage girl behind the register, he adds, "What did Van Pelt find?"

"Van Pelt ran Paula Connelly's maiden name like you told her to, and Paula Fletcher was a witness in an unsolved case from seventeen years ago. A young couple disappeared on their honeymoon and their car was found on the side of I-80 the next morning. The last place they were seen alive was the convenience store where Connelly worked. She was on duty then, and local LEOs interviewed everyone who was working that night."

Jane pays for his purchase while Cho recounts these details. With a final smile and nod to the cashier, Jane takes his change and heads quickly to the exit. Once safely in the parking lot and away from potential eavesdroppers, he asks, "Did local law enforcement have any leads at the time?"

"Nothing from the early 90's has been put into electronic records yet," Cho explains matter-of-factly. "Rigsby and Van Pelt just went over to central storage to pull the files themselves. Boss doesn't want anyone else but us handling them, and I don't blame her."

"Best not to let anyone else in on this before we know." Jane agrees, then adds, "I'll be back at the office shortly."

And with a quick "Okay," Cho hangs up the phone without saying goodbye.

Jane slides the phone back in his breast pocket, but not before he glances quickly at the digital clock on his phone. If Rigsby and Van Pelt had just left, they would be gone for at least an hour - and that was if all of the files from 1993 were exactly where they were supposed to be. Climbing into the driver's seat of his Citroën and starting up the engine, Jane maneuvers out of the parking lot and speeds in the direction of CBI Headquarters. He hits every traffic light and makes the twenty minute drive in fifteen.

xxx

The bullpen is empty when Jane arrives back on the Series Crimes floor, but he spots Lisbon immediately. She is sitting at her desk, her head bent over an open drawer as though she is looking for something. Although he knows he is tempting fate when only twenty minutes before she had asked Cho to call him so that she wouldn't have to, he decides that the risk is worth taking; he approaches her office door and knocks tentatively.

Her head snaps up, and he watches the crease in her forehead smooth out as she slowly nods for him to enter.

"Hey, Lisbon." He treads carefully, his voice soft as he steps over the threshold and into her office. She may appear resigned, but anger lingers in her shoulders. "Van Pelt found something?"

"Cho already told you," she says in confirmation. "Gary and Melissa Cooper were last seen at a convenience store just off of I-80 on June 16, 1993. Their rental car was found less than five miles away the next day, but their bodies were never found. You told Van Pelt to check into any connections that Connelly had to unsolved crimes, and this is it. She was interviewed because she was working that night."

Jane nods. "That sounds about right."

Eyeing him warily, Lisbon asks, "You don't want to wait to see the files? I sent Van Pelt and Rigsby all the way to central storage to pull them."

"I don't think we need to," he says with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Not for confirmation that this is what connects Lutz to Connelly."

She leans forward against her desk, her doubt showing as she narrows her eyes. "And you don't think this is too... easy? Wouldn't Lutz try to hide this and keep us guessing?"

"Not necessarily. Lutz doesn't want the connection to be obvious, but he does want us to find it. This is a game to him: how fast can we come up with the missing pieces?"

"So he's always going to be at least one step ahead of us. Of course." Rubbing her temple, she sighs, resigned. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. I just... I thought this was over. I never even saw this coming."

"None of us did," Jane agrees, studying the frustration he reads on her face and discerning its most likely meaning. "You can't blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done differently."

Lisbon considers this for a moment before countering, "I wanted to put Jennifer in witness protection, at least until the media storm died down. You _know_ I did, Jane."

"And she didn't want to go," he answers quickly. He wasn't present for the conversation in the immediate aftermath of Red John's death, but he knows the content of every file by heart and Lisbon's notes are nothing if not thorough.

"I should have pushed harder." She shakes her head, her gaze shifting downward, and speaks more to herself than to him. "I knew it was for her own good."

"Jennifer Howell was a grown woman..."

"Who just found out that her husband was a serial killer!" she argues, her voice rising. "I was supposed to protect her."

She slumps back in her chair, the weight of the world resting firmly on her shoulders, and even though he knows she won't listen, he wants to find some way to offer her reassurance. It isn't her fault, no matter what she chooses to believe; his challenge lies in overcoming her own stubborn nature and natural instincts so that she can see the simple truth.

"You did everything you could for her, Lisbon," he says, choosing his words carefully because he knows that with Lisbon, his words _matter_ and the wrong ones will do more harm than good. "She didn't want to hide from her life or her husband's true identity, and you respected that. That was the best thing you could do for her."

Lisbon shows the hint of a smile at this. "You're completely full of it, but that was a nice try, Jane. I appreciate the effort."

"I'm not lying," his rebuttal comes quickly, a reflex as her defenses set in. "You went well above and beyond the call of duty with Jennifer Howell. Witness protection wouldn't have done anything but possibly delay the inevitable for a few days and get a few state agents killed in the process. Lutz always planned to come after her, and no one could have stopped him. There is absolutely no need to feel guilty."

Her eyes cast downward again and she exhales slowly, silently; he can only see the slight movement of her chest, almost imperceptible in the dim lighting of her office. A stillness settles over them, a single moment of calm amidst the gathering storm, and he senses her quiet acceptance. He smiles; lost in her own world, she does not notice.

"Here, I got something for you while I was out," he says, finally breaking the silence as he picks up the bag he's been holding just beneath the edge of her desk, out of her line of vision. He places it in front of her, watching intently as she eyes the bag.

She glances up at him and raises an eyebrow, her own silent question.

"Just open it," he urges, leaning forward against her desk. "I promise, it doesn't bite."

A muffled snort is the only reply he gets. She rolls her eyes and fingers the bag warily, but she still reaches in and pulls out her gift. The small stuffed animal lands softly on the desk before her, and she picks it up and cradles it in her hands, inspecting it as carefully as she would evidence at a crime scene.

"It's a turtle," she says finally. It's almost a question as she looks up at him, both amused and puzzled at his choice of gift.

"It is," he agrees. "His name is Edmund. I thought he might liven things up around here; sit on your desk, keep you company."

"Oh really?" Lisbon tries to keep a straight face, but as always, her eyes give her away.

"Yes, really," he teases back, grinning. He draws in a breath, his tone growing serious. "I was wrong before, Lisbon. I'm sorry. I never should have kept that from you."

"A real apology from Patrick Jane. Will wonders never cease!" She mocks him openly in tone, but there is an underlying affection to her voice that tells him that she is genuinely touched. And even though she won't say the words out loud, she is not angry at him anymore.

Lisbon punctuates her statement by placing the turtle just to the left of her computer in a position of honor; feeling unusually pleased with himself (even by _his_ standards), Jane beams down at her. This time, she notices and smiles back demurely, her cheeks shading a slight pink color.

"Not many people merit a real apology. You should feel honored," he quips.

She answers without missing a beat, "Oh, I am."

His gaze falls back to Edmund and lingers, but as much as he is enjoying the ease of their usual banter (something that feels _normal_ between them in spite of the circumstances, as much as anything has in months), he knows that Van Pelt and Rigsby will be back shortly, at which point they will all be forced to return to the task at hand. Swallowing the sudden urge to sigh, he meets Lisbon's eyes. He regrets having to change the subject at all, but there is something that has been on his mind since earlier that afternoon, one that he had temporarily put aside in light of more important pursuits.

Lisbon seems to recognize his change in demeanor, giving him an inquisitive look that lets him know he has her full attention.

"Did you get a chance to look any deeper into Thomas O'Brien?"

She frowns. "Not yet. You don't really think he's involved in this, do you?"

"Not really." He says slowly, trying to explain as best he can. "It's just, well..."

"He irks you?" she finishes with a knowing look.

"Yes." Jane answers simply. "He does."

Narrowing her eyes, she asks, "What is it about him that bothers you so much?"

He gives her a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and tries to remain casual and unaffected as he explains, "He's dishonest. I'd be willing to bet that he's running a couple of cons on the side and using his position to do so."

"And you think that's connected to this case?" She raises an eyebrow, making no attempt hide her skepticism.

"No, actually, I don't. It's not urgent, but I do think that he's worth looking into as soon as this case is over." Knowing that Lisbon will need more explanation than this, he continues without prompting. "He was honest with you when he was answering questions about his wife and his brother in law, but when he was talking about his upcoming surgery..."

"You think he was lying?" she interrupts.

At this, Jane leans forward and shifts his weight against the edge of her desk. "I watched him walk into the building. He wasn't using his cane."

Lisbon purses her lips in surprise, seemingly unaware of what to do with this new information, and the familiar crease forms on her forehead. A telltale sign of stress and frustration. "Oh," she says finally, somewhat subdued. "Okay."

"Lisbon..."

She shakes her head. "I don't understand, Jane. What does this even mean?"

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he reassures her, sensing that the last few days - and particularly the last few hours - have pushed even the ever-capable Agent Lisbon to the edge of what she can take. "We can give this to White Collar Crimes and have them watch him."

"I'll call O'Leary's team first thing tomorrow morning if you want," she concedes. "But can I ask... Why is this so important to you?"

Reading between the lines, Jane hears the question she really wants to ask: _Why is Thomas O'Brien bothering you so much?_

It would be so easy to go with a simple answer, to tell her that he saw something in O'Brien and wants his suspicions confirmed, but he realizes he would rather be honest. He needs her to know the truth; he _wants_ her to know.

"When I was a teenager, my father and I ran with a faith healer for about eighteen months. It was one of our more profitable circuits, but it left a bad taste in my mouth. I was glad when the con went south and we had to leave; it was a relief."

Lisbon furrows her brow just slightly at this. "I never would have guessed," is all she manages.

He grins at her, although his eyes are curious. "Because of what I used to do?" he suggests, ignoring the sting in his chest even as his tone is light and airy.

"No," she replies with a quick shake of her head. "Because you've never been exactly discrete about your feelings on the subject of religion."

She doesn't elaborate, but her implications are clear. At this, he frowns; after all this time, she assumes he thinks less of people - especially of _her_ - because of her beliefs. That he wouldn't be bothered by a con of this nature.

"Lisbon." His voice grows urgent; he needs to make her understand. "That's not... I never meant..." He frowns again, disconcerted by the fact that words are not flowing freely when he needs them most. He draws a steady breath to calm his nerves and continues his explanation. "I may tease Van Pelt or give a suspect a hard time, but I never meant for _you_ to get the wrong idea. I need you to know that."

She nods slowly in response, a tacit acceptance.

"We'll get this guy," she says finally.

He knows it's as close to an outward acknowledgement of his words as he's going to get from Teresa Lisbon, yet in her own way, it's also the highest honor she can bestow.

"We will," he agrees.

But as he hears commotion carry in from the bullpen, the sound of Rigsby and Van Pelt shuffling back from central storage, his focus shifts back to more pressing concerns. O'Brien may be loathsome and conniving, but he will prove easy enough to catch in the end.

Lutz, however, is another matter entirely.

xxxxx

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**A/N:** That temporary hiatus lasted a lot longer than intended, I apologize! I appreciate those of you who have waited and sent me messages of encouragement in the mean time :-) I promise that I have no intention of abandoning this story, no matter how slow or sporadic I may be in updating. At least part of the delay this time was that I wanted to get the next chapter written and edited prior to posting this one, since I'm in the middle of several other stories (as usual).

Anyway, I'm really excited for the next couple of chapters, so if you get a chance, you might want to skim back over the beginning of this story as a refresher. There are a few things that might come into play soon. As always, you guys are the best. Thanks for sticking with me :-)


	9. Bad Sun

**chapter eight**

Bad Sun

xxxxx

Twenty four hours and eleven full boxes of case reports later, they are no closer to making any headway on the presumed murders of Gary and Melissa Cooper. Neither Martin Howell nor Karl Lutz was interviewed in connection with the young couple's disappearance, although both men were confirmed in the Bay Area at the time. The fact that the bodies were never found complicated matters; officially, this remained a missing persons case, although unofficially, the Coopers were assumed dead long ago.

Lisbon finds herself giving in to feelings of frustration and futility as she retreats to her office, anxious to get her own quick temper away from those of her three agents. Even the always affable Rigsby had muttered a few choice words at their latest dead end; they finally tracked down the convenience store manager - _inconveniently_ named John Smith - only to find that the John Smith in question died six years ago. But Jane had been worse than the other three combined.

He had been unusually helpful with even the more tedious aspects of going through the old case, including volunteering to go through an entire box of faded, handwritten interview notes, a task he would never deign to undertake under normal circumstances. That alone had been enough to raise her concern. Since he came clean about his suspicions the precious afternoon, he had been on his best behavior. She knows that he feels guilty about keeping his theory from her and she appreciates that he did not want to worry her unless it was absolutely necessary. However, they'd had many similar arguments in the past. She could only hope that this time, _this case_, would be the one that would finally drive that point home for him.

From her vantage point sitting at her desk, Lisbon can see her three agents sitting at their desks, all hard at work. But as usual, it's Jane on whom her attention falls. He is sitting up on his couch, his familiar blue teacup in one hand and a file in the other. She wonders how he's truly coping with all of this. He seems different than he did with Red John cases in the past, which she supposes does make sense, yet she still worries. There are traces of that familiar madness in his eyes.

She isn't even sure that he himself has noticed.

With a heavy sigh, she turns her attention back to her own work. She pulls her own bible from its proper place in her second desk drawer and turns to the verses she recorded on a post-it note. Jane believes these verses are a message sent to single her out, and perhaps there is something she can glean from careful reflection that Jane might not notice. As she places the bible down on her desk, she catches sight of Edmund sitting right where she placed him the afternoon before, and she smiles to herself. Only Jane could get her a stuffed turtle as an apology and get away with it. Her mood lightened, albeit just slightly, she tries to make sense of the riddle before her.

After nearly half an hour, Lisbon realizes the words on the page have started to run together, and one quick glance around the bullpen tells her that her agents are not making any progress either. Even Jane, usually a master at either appearing occupied or completely disinterested, seems unable to feign either of those moods, instead opting to run one hand through his hair as he casts the file down; a rare show of weakness from him.

She glances at her watch: almost 4:00 on Friday afternoon. As much as it pains her to admit it, every avenue of their investigation has currently reached a dead end, and after the overtime they've been putting in over the last week, there is simply nothing left for them to do for the time being. Their best course of action - their only course of action - is to go home, rest, and start fresh on Monday. She will continue the investigation on her own over the weekend; she imagines Jane will as well. But three overworked, overtired agents will be of no use to her when Karl decides to strike again, and she needs her agents at the top of their game.

Lisbon reluctantly gathers up her notes and heads to the bullpen to dismiss her team.

xxx

Just under two hours later, Lisbon turns the corner onto her street at a steady jog. Her breath comes in heavy pants as she passes the familiar homes on her block. She feels a gentle breeze against her face and hears the pounding of her feet against the pavement, and she finishes her run with a final burst of energy as she runs up her front walk. Although the late afternoon temperature has already begun to fall, she welcomes the cool air that greets her as she enters her air conditioned apartment.

Upon arriving home from work, she had immediately traded in her professional slacks and loafers for running shorts and trainers in the hopes that at least a short run would relieve some of her case-related stress. It had, but not by much.

She allows herself a few moments' rest, reclining back against her love seat as her breathing returns to normal. Her muscles ache slightly, the pleasant consequence of a particularly strenuous work out, and her eyes close as the temporary adrenaline rush wears off slightly.

Lisbon rises somewhat reluctantly from the sofa and heads into the kitchen, quickly locating her take out menus in the drawer directly underneath her phone. She picks the first menu off the top of the pile and begins to dial, eyes skimming the menu quickly as she decides at random what she wants to order. It's still a little too early for dinner and she hasn't been especially hungry all week, as is often the case when she feels increased stress, but she makes it a point to go through the motions all the same.

The teenage boy on the other end of the line tells her that her total is $21.71 - she could barely remember what she had ordered - and her food will be there in 45 minutes to an hour. Lisbon scarcely has time to acknowledge this before she hears the familiar click and the return of the dial tone. Unfazed, she hangs up her own phone and begins to make her way up the stairs. She would have plenty of time to shower and change before her food arrives, and then she would be alone for the weekend with nothing but her case files and Jane's theories on the delusions of a mad man.

Within minutes, she stands in her shower as the water cascades over her, and her hand reaches forward, grasping the hot water faucet and increasing the temperature. It burns at first, the stream now near scalding, but it still is not enough to burn away the pessimism and despair that she has been fighting all day - all _week_ - since the moment they arrived at the rest stop to discover Jennifer Howell's body.

In the privacy of her own home, she has no other excuses to keep those feelings at bay.

xxx

Although she does not linger in the shower, the sun is beginning to sink low in the sky by the time Lisbon emerges from her bathroom. It fills her living room with its soft light, and its rays reach out to greet her as she makes her way back downstairs. She settles in on her sofa and turns on the television, selecting one of the cooking shows she has stored on her TiVo. The television serves as an ideal distraction for her current frame of mind; she allows herself to focus on something other than the case for a little while.

Lost in her own world, it takes a few moments for her to register the pounding at her front door. She frowns; her food isn't due to arrive for at least another twenty minutes.

However, when she opens the door, it is not a teenage boy holding a bag with her dinner who greets her. Instead, it is a young man in his mid to late twenties, tall and thin with red hair and freckles. He must have a pale complexion under normal circumstances, but he appears now as the embodiment of _pale as a ghost_, his face contorted in sheer panic.

"Are you Teresa?" he stumbles over the words, trying to spit them out too quickly in his current state.

"I am," Lisbon confirms, trying to remain neutral in expression so as not to agitate him further until she knows what is going on. "Can I help you?"

"I..." he chokes out, "I called 911 already, but my sister mentioned that she lived next door to a cop and..."

_Your sister_, she wonders to herself, and then realization dawns on her. "You're Anna's brother," she gasps, more to herself than to him. The nausea that she has been fighting back all week suddenly returns full force, settling deep in her stomach and causing bile to rise up in her throat. She doesn't need Anna's brother to tell her what has happened - doesn't want to hear the words, even as she knows the truth - but his broken reply comes nonetheless.

"I knew something wasn't right. I found her lying on the floor, there was blood everywhere. She's not breathing. I think... I think she's dead. I think she's been murdered."

In one quick, fluid motion, Lisbon rushes to her bookshelf, grabs the nearest glock she can find, and reverts to on duty cop mode. Before she is conscious of her actions, she has called the team back in and contacted Hightower at home to report the crime.

Standing in Anna's living room, with Anna's brother (whose name, she finally recalled with some difficulty, was Sean) on the phone to his parents just one room away, Lisbon attempts to survey the grim scene in front of her with careful, professional detachment. Her efforts are in vain the moment she lays eyes on Anna's body.

Where Anna had once been a beautiful woman, her body now lay mutilated practically beyond recognition. The wounds that cover the expanse of her frame are deep and erratic, made in escalating anger, and the blood that pools around her is still bright red and fresh. Anna could not have been dead long.

_Was he here when I came home?_ Lisbon wonders to herself. _If we missed each other, it would not have been by much. Would she have had a chance if I had come home earlier? Could I have saved her?_

The possibilities haunt her more every second she stands over her neighbor's lifeless body.

The two women had been friends, and while they had not been close by any means, the message that Karl sent was abundantly clear, even without reading the note that Lisbon is certain Karl left somewhere on the body.

Casting her eyes around the living room once more, Lisbon is struck by one of the crucial differences between Red John and his mentor. Jane always said Red John was a showman. She recalled Jane's words when they'd worked a copycat case nearly three years ago: _You see the face first and you know. You know what's happened and you feel dread. Then, and only then, do you see the body of the victim. Always in that order._

But where Red John had been a showman and his crime scenes had reflected that, Karl is a showman in an entirely different way. Karl does not stage a scene; at least, not one for the victim's family. Every action is deliberate and serves his own agenda, but that agenda is primarily concerned with proving his superiority over his former student. He does not leave a mark on the wall to inspire dread the same way Red John had; Karl channels that into even greater violence, leaving the mark directly on the victim instead.

As a result, each crime scene has been more gruesome than the one before.

Lisbon is grateful when CSU begins to make an appearance and, one by one, her own team arrives on the scene - Jane first, then Van Pelt, Cho, and Rigsby. Sean is still sitting in the kitchen, staring blankly forward, and although all three of her agents offer to take his statement, Lisbon insists on taking it herself. She can sense Jane lingering just beyond the kitchen door as she listens to Sean's account of what happened, but her consultant is mercifully silent for the duration. When she finishes, she sends Sean to a hotel; he has seen more than enough already.

Rejoining her unit in the living room, she finds that even Agent Hightower has arrived at the scene and is already deep in conversation with Cho.

Lisbon stands back and allows the rest of her team to work, but Jane ambles up beside her, offering a supportive smile. "Did you know her well?" he asks.

"I knew her a little, but not well," she shakes her head, her voice quiet and subdued. "Not really. But she used to run cross country, and sometimes..."

"Say no more," he finishes. "You were friends."

Lisbon exhales, grateful that he understood without her needing to explain any further because at that moment, Hightower motions them over. In her hand, Hightower holds the note that had been on the body, the note Lisbon knew was there.

Hightower lays the note out on her gloved palm so that they can read it with ease; Lisbon only needs to read it once. No hints or games this time, just a simple, direct threat.

_Now it's personal._

"Lutz is escalating," Hightower says matter-of-factly. "And I would consider this a direct threat. I think we need to assume that Jane is correct in his theory that Lutz is going to come after you, Lisbon."

"I was home, and he was here," Lisbon counters. Her eyes scan the scene in the living room once more and land on the sight of Erica, the medical examiner, bent over Anna's body. "If he wanted to come after me, why didn't he do it then?"

"I don't know why he didn't come after you this time, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't if the chance presents itself again." Hightower pauses, frowning in consideration. "Since I can assume that you'll turn down any protective detail, do you have somewhere else to stay tonight?"

"I'll be fine!" Lisbon protests insistently.

"I'm not taking any chances," Hightower commands with a tone of finality with which not even Teresa Lisbon would dare argue. "He obviously knows where you live, and until we can be certain that you are safe, I don't want you staying here without a protective detail. So it's your choice: stay in a hotel for a few days, or tolerate the protective detail. At the very least, it will give the rest of us some peace of mind."

"Fine," Lisbon agrees with a reluctant sigh. "I'll just go grab a few of my things."

"Pack for a couple of days." Jane, who has been hovering silently for the duration of her conversation with Hightower, finally speaks up. But it's what he does not say that speaks volumes.

_We don't know how long it's going to take to find him, so it might not be safe for you to come back here for a while._

A chill runs down her spine at the thought, but Lisbon turns without a word and escapes to the would-be comfort of her own home.

Standing in the shadows in her bedroom, the familiar space suddenly seems foreign. She begins to pack her overnight bag, then shakes her head and abandons that for the larger suitcase she rarely ever uses unless she's going back east to visit her brothers. She moves slowly but deliberately, packing her things on autopilot.

When she finishes, she gives her bedroom a careful once-over. Her bed is made, but the rest of her room is a state of disarray, slightly more so than normal. The blouse she wore yesterday lies crumpled on the floor by her hamper in the exact spot it landed the night before, her favorite leather jacket is strewn on top of her dresser, and several pairs of shoes have become an obstacle that she must step over if she wants to access her closet. She has simply been too exhausted, too world-weary, and any moment she has to herself has been spent in restless slumber.

All things considered, the change of scenery might do her some good. She can read case reports from a hotel room just as easily as she might from her living room sofa.

Outside, Jane's familiar blue Citroen is parked parallel to her own vehicle, visible in the glow of the streetlights, with Jane leaning back against the passenger door. Noticing her immediately, he meets her halfway.

"Please don't tell me Hightower is sending you with me for my protection," Lisbon teases weakly, attempting to play down the palpable tension in the air between them.

For her efforts, Jane smiles back in self-deprecation. "Oh no. This arrangement is solely for _my_ protection."

She laughs. "As long as we're clear on that."

"Hightower knows where I'm taking you," he says, his tone suddenly hushed and serious. "But no one else. She thinks this will be safer than putting guard detail on you, and I agree. We don't know... We don't know if there's someone on the inside."

Of course, she realizes instantly. Red John had moles too. There's no way to know who we can trust.

"My credit card will still be traceable, as will any Bureau card that we use," Lisbon concludes with a frown. As soon as Jane raised the possibility of a mole in the CBI, another concern came to mind. "And if there's someone on the inside, they'll be able to access the records."

"Ahhh," Jane replies quickly, but where his voice would normally be controlled and confident, now it is sincere, even concerned. He offers a reassuring smile. "We've taken that under consideration. Everything will be taken care of. Just trust me."

Finding nothing quite so disarming as a sincere Patrick Jane, she gathers all of her wits and raises an eyebrow. "'Just trust me'?" she says in jest, giving a good-natured laugh. "How many times have I heard _that_ before?"

Jane laughs, soft but genuine, and together they walk toward his car.

"Well in that case," he quips, his eyes alight, much more like his usual self, "I suppose you can carry your own bags."

She rolls her eyes, but she feels a sense of relief - slight, but present - as she climbs into the passenger seat of his car. They ride in comfortable silence: Jane, for once, not fiddling with the radio stations; Lisbon gazing out the window at the quiet streets, the people living their lives without giving the horrible headlines more than a few moments' thought.

Lisbon thinks of Anna, of Anna's parents and her brother Sean, and of Jennifer Howell and Paula Connelly. She thinks of her family and her team and Hightower, then finally of Jane.

She knows that Karl's actions are only going to get worse, and she can only hope that she can be everything that they need. Her professional armor is growing fragile beneath the weight of this case. More than anything, she needs a quiet night to recollect herself.

_Maybe a few nights in a hotel wouldn't be the worst thing,_ she muses to herself.

But for the first time since Jane put the car in drive, she begins to take notice of where they are. They have been driving for almost twenty minutes, and all Lisbon has seen is residential areas. As a matter of fact, Jane is turning into a private subdivision, and most of the hotels are on the other side of town.

"Jane?" She narrows her eyes, her confusion evident in the crease in her forehead. "Where are we going?"

"Patience, my dear Lisbon. You'll see in just a minute."

He dismisses her question quickly and keeps his eyes on the road. The car begins to decelerate, and there's not one hotel in sight, just a tree-lined street full of private homes.

"Jane!" This time, she speaks more forcefully, her tone insistent, as the car continues to decelerate. "Where exactly are you taking me?"

At that moment, Jane brings the car to a complete stop, pulling up along the sidewalk. He shifts gears and puts the car in park.

"This isn't a hotel," she observes, mostly in question.

"I know it's not," he answers immediately. When he turns to look at her, he appears forlorn and subdued, as though whatever he is about to tell her is certain to disappoint her. Silently, she promises to temper her reaction if at all possible; she would never consciously cause him pain, not if it could be avoided, and Jane has only been acting in what he believed to be her best interests.

Lisbon reaches out and touches his arm gently, waiting patiently for him to explain.

"I talked it over with Madeleine, and she agreed," he continues, his tone not exactly quiet, but not quite animated either. "So we decided that I should bring you to the one place no one would ever think to look for you. My place."

She looks at him blankly, not sure she's heard him correctly. Somewhere nearby on this quiet suburban street, a dog barks and headlights flash; someone else is returning to their quiet suburban home. But not Jane. Not to a place like this. Not _here_, in Sacramento.

Jane shrugs and flashes her his best smile, outshining the street lamps in its brightness.

"Welcome to Casa Jane."

xxxxx

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**A/N:** So obviously the updates are just going to be a little bit slow in coming no matter what I do, but they always come. We're not going to talk about how long ago Yana sent this chapter back to me. Since then, I have moved three times (yeah, you read that right) and written about 30,000 words of Big Bang fic (which for those of you who follow the other stories I write, will be updated tomorrow as promsied). I forgot to mention it last time, but the title for Chapter 7 was from a Snow Patrol song. The title for this chapter is by The Bravery. This is probably my favorite chapter so far.

Thanks, as always, to those of you who have stuck around for my glacier-paced updates. Please sign in when you review, especially if you have questions. That way I can answer you! :-)


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